Snakecharmer
by Krahae
Summary: During the summer after the Tri-Wizard, Harry is faced with the reality he has more on his shoulders than just the title Boy-Who-Lived. An unlikely alliance promises him help in understanding his role, but the cost is not common coin. Post 4th, mild AU
1. Preface

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters from the Harry Potter franchise. This will not be repeated, and applies to all further chapters.

An aside: Do not review asking about Grimm. It is not forgotten. I need a very specific frame of mind to work on that body, and frankly, I've not been in it. I'm estimating I'll get my mental rewiring set around christmas.

Spoilers may follow, with the clarifications. Proceed with caution. Beyond this point, there is nothing vital.

**Important Preface Notes: I am not a good public writer. For someone to have that title, by definition, one must write for the public. I do not. I do not write to please my reader. I do not write to cater to fandoms, trends, fads, or public opinion.**

This means I may very well ignore a very common trend in Harry Potter fanfiction. Hero aggrandizement, and displacement.

People want a hero. People want a hero, who is _heroic_. Harry is not. He is lucky, biased at times, childish, simple, and uninformed. He reacts, when pushed, and that pressure makes him stronger. Most often, he is not the catalyst that moves the primary nodes of his own story forward. He does the right thing, often by accident, and with a lot of help. Harry is not the force behind the machine that drives his existence, therefore, he is not responsible. He is the striking surface of the siege engine.

Of course, the first thing people want to do with Harry, is make him powerful. Make him worthy of being a hero. He does qualify for the title, by classical definition, but modern expectations do not acknowledge the subtleties therein. Heroes now must be bigger than life; not just bigger than the life they live in.

In this story, you will not find a powerful Harry, who suddenly decides after his years of mistreatments and conditioning to deal with it, to grow a backbone and throw off his oppressors. He does not suddenly inherit special powers, a ton of money, some powerful relic, or any other deus ex machina. House elves will not be the unwinding point to all securities. Goblins do no decide that his token politeness makes him some sort of treasured ally and potential proxy savior or representative. His friends do no decide to suddenly help him, by taking over his life and cheering for him to win. No soul bonds. **You will not see Fanon Harry here**.

Harry in time will grow, learn, and become powerful in his own right, in his own direction. Read that carefully. Remember it. What happens today, tomorrow we may decide to ignore.

Is my rendition of Harry completely accurate? Of course not. Canon accuracy requires the scope of canon. Fanfiction by definition defeats this. Will I make an attempt to portray him accurately? Yes, _as long as it furthers the goals I have for the project_. I am god here - my rule is above all others. That is the joy of being an author.

-

Two things to remember about this story, in a mechanical sense: It will be in first person, from Harry's point of view. That in mind, keep these two ideas close to heart.

_Just because I'm telling a lie, doesn't mean I'll tell you I am._

**Always remember! Harry is an imperfect window here!**

Snakecharmer will be a political story, and hopefully, a more sensible one at that. I've read too many stories where Harry gains some lordship or title, yet the reason those were given or the responsibilities behind them are never mentioned. I hope to do a little groundbreaking on this story, or at least, pay the idea a bit more realistic homage. That means having the title is work, and not all big keeps, big vaults, and enough political clout to choke a whale.

Those positions and honors once and still do carry a very heavy burden, something Harry already bears (so far, unknowingly in the story) thanks to the prophecy. This is not a story where unfounded or unearned bashing occurs. Honesty isn't bashing – everyone has faults, and it is in how we see them, that turn them into positives or negatives.

Now, for some assumption squashing. Dumbledore is not a manipulative prick here. It may look like it, but he's human, and humans make mistakes. That is all, preemptively, to clear the air. I appreciate a good mastermind fic now and then, and this will have hints, but he isn't the villain. He's just focused, on what he feels is most important.

As for the romance, don't expect leaps and bounds anytime soon. Daphne may not be the typical Slytherin here, but she is one, and is not part of the HPFanclub. It will be rocky. Slow. But it will happen.

For those of you who need your genre's put in neat little boxes: gray!Harry, political!Harry. Beyond that, things will evolve in time.


	2. Chapter 1

**Snakecharmer**

Chapter 1

Who _are_ you people?!

–

I was so close.

Four years of dealing with the seemingly hot and cold running emotions of my... _peers_, of the whole wizarding world in fact, and I had almost proven myself. The Tri-Wizard Tournament had been a blessing in disguise that way, though it took Rita to really see it, strangely enough. I could win, I could take the Tournament for Hogwarts, and then it would all be so easy. I'd truly began to hope after the second task. A little whisper then, fierce and fueled by my anger at the situation had started making a lot of sense.

"Prove them wrong," it said.

"Show them who you really are," it demanded.

"Win." That beguiling whisper had suggested.

It made sense. If I won – if I proved to be worthy of winning the Tournament, maybe they'd stop whispering that I was the next Dark Lord one month, and regaling me as their savior the next.

Then Voldemort had to come and, true to form, screw everything up at the last minute. All thought of winning, even if it was shared with Cedric, flew away on the tail of a sickly green curse. At that point I knew, no matter what happened, the victory would be empty.

Fudge made that fear a truth. Having the moral fiber and spine of a flobberworm, the coward had denounced me and the headmaster as mad. Sputtering in a rage and all but foaming at the mouth, the fat little man had thrown me the blood money for the Cup, and stormed out.

No more than a day later, the papers were suggesting _I_ was responsible for Cedric's death. Nevermind his wand showed no traces, or that it was obvious the Hufflepuff champion had been felled with a Killing Curse, something I didn't even know how to cast properly. Barty had been a wealth of information on the Unforgivables, but even he wasn't going to push his luck teaching the Avada to fourth-years. I began to see that truth, at least to wizards, meant less than entertainment. Those same people who had celebrated when somehow I'd vanquished Voldemort as a baby, couldn't make up their mind on whether I was good or evil, but they definitely wanted me, if for nothing else but something to gossip over.

Even my supposed adopted family had bought into the idiocy. Only Fred and George Weasley had stayed by my side despite it all. Ron, Ginny, Hermione... at some point they'd all turned on me. Even my House... in the end, it made sense to hand over the gold. The twins could do something with it I couldn't – enjoy it.

That so many would turn on me, for so little was a bitter pill to swallow.

All my maudlin thoughts were derailed by the sound of wood splintering, and the surprised yelp of someone downstairs, followed by a muffled thud. I cursed quietly, grabbing my wand and creeping to the bedroom door, cursing again the bad luck in it being locked from the outside. Summers weren't so bad these days, but the first week or two were still tense. It seemed that it was just easier on both sides, if we stayed in as little contact as possible during that time.

Shaking off recent thoughts of the freedoms I'd get to enjoy later in the summer, I leaned an ear against the small crack in the door, hoping to catch a hint of what was going on. It was a good thing I was already braced against the doorframe, or I would have jumped in fright when a voice, nearly next to my ear, belted around the hallway beyond the door.

"The bloody hell is this all about?"

There was an answering call from the den, which distance and the stairwell muffled, before the voice – a girl, it sounded like – huffed and replied in a terse tone, "I don't know! It's not like I'm familiar with these... _muggles!_"

All my breath left me in a rush at that. Not realizing it, I'd fallen back and landed hard on my backside with a quiet curse. "Muggles!? There were wizards in my house?" The silent question was countered by the footfalls in the hall stopping, just past the door. Only then did I realize that the fall wasn't as silent as my thoughts.

"Hello then," the girl murmured, as shadows played just under the locked door. "If I were the Boy Who Lived... where would I be?"

Panic caressed me like a Dementor, and I scrabbled back and away from the door, wand forgotten. The only people that would be asking where I was didn't know, and that meant they were outside of Dumbledore's circle of trust. That almost assuredly meant they were outside of mine as well.

Outside the door, what shadows were moving around suddenly stopped. "In for a knut..." with a snap and creak, the bolts were twisted back home and the door pivoted open, showing me a young woman my age, in rather better matching clothes than the average wizard, her wand out and snapping with faint sparks. With some apprehension, I noted she was somewhat familiar, but could neither place her face or name. "Potter?"

For my part, I finally raised my wand, "Who are you?"

The girl's face – set before in a combination of annoyance and curiosity – clouded and grew irritated. "Four years, and you don't even... nevermind. I can't believe we're doing this," ignoring my question entirely, she leaned back out the door, pointing her wand at her throat and murmuring.

"I FOUND HIM!" Instinct is a bitch some times, and as the words reverberated around my head, I realized that my hands were clasped firmly over my ears. I'd dropped my wand, like a fool. The girl's voice shook the walls, rattling dust from the ceiling and pictures all over the home, and I'm sure there were a few cracked panes of glass as well. The ringing in my ears was still going on, when two other people showed up by the girl's side, one glaring balefully at her.

"Remind me why I taught you that charm, daughter?" The hall's light did nothing to supply details, something I was growing irritable at, and was about to start demanding answers regarding, when the woman who spoke summoned my neglected wand to her hand, making a tisking sound. "Sorry, Mr. Potter. We can't have you jeopardizing things by casting too many spells."

Turning to the other adult, the girl affected an irritated air, "Too many? He didn't do anything. Just sat there and stared at me."

Regarding me intently, the older man raised a brow. "Is that so. How curious. I thought, considering all the news about the lad, he'd be a rather hard one to deal with."

"The Ministry," I mutter, glaring after my wand, as it was put in a pocket. "I can't do magic."

The looks they gave me after that mumbled announcement had me drawing back slightly, as they stared like I'd just told them I had suggestive pictures of Dumbledore and Voldemort fornicating. "You... wait," the older man – I assume he was the girl's father – held up a hand and looked to the side. "You think the Ministry would reprimand you for using magic? Out here?"

Tired of sitting on my backside while people I don't know asked a lot of questions, I stood and dusted myself off. "Well, yes. They've sent letters when I didn't do magic." Shrugging, I recalled the incident with some irritation. "There was a house-elf involved, and I still got a letter."

Again the older members of the group looked at one another. "You think the ward will hold?"

"If they're looking here, specifically, possibly. We should go soon though."

Eying the lot suspiciously, which is the least I should be doing really, I shook my head. "I'm not going anywhere," backing up my gruff announcement, I set my heels and glared defiantly.

The man spared me a tired look. "Of course you are. There's a number of ways this will work. You come on your own, without trouble," the man raised a finger, indicating his points. "Or would you rather we kill the muggles, bind you, stun you, and just handle you like irritating luggage." Another finger rose, along with my hackles at his 'option'. Finally, the man face broke into an unpleasant smile. "Then, there's my favorite, you resist, I let my daughter vent her frustrations on being called out on this errand on you, then we bind, stun... you get the idea."

Wincing, I nodded slightly. "You... have a point."

"Morgana, he _can_ be reasonable," the young woman mocked, tucking her own wand into a sleeve. I aimed my glare at her, despite the situation. Turning as if she had nothing to worry about from the Boy Who Lived, which I had to admit at the moment, she currently didn't, the girl regarded her mother. "So, what about the muggles?"

The 'mother' shrugged slightly. "Ask them some questions. I'm sure they know something of use."

Sighing dramatically, the girl nodded. "I was afraid you'd say that." Taking a few hesitant steps forward, the girl reached out and took hold of my arm in a firm grip. This earned her a scowl, as we marched out of the room, trailing a handful of steps behind her parents, who were descending the staircase. "I have to say though, this isn't at all what I expected to find," she muttered quietly, a note of mocking in her voice.

There's nothing really else in the world that gets me hacked off quite as fast as being put down over things I can't control. Every year, every day since I was left in the hellhole that bears the name Dursley, I've endured it. Suffice to say, jerking my arm out of her grip and making her stumble down a few steps was a minor reaction. I blithely ignored her swearing colorfully, as I held my ground above her on the stairwell. Anger still brimming nice and full, I shot back, "Sorry to disappoint. It's all I've ever known."

I know better than to start a full scuffle, so I don't balk when she grabs me by the arm roughly again, the petite black-haired girl pulling her wand and jabbing it into my side, causing me to wince and bend away. "Don't get snide. I don't want to be here; you don't want me here. Just deal with it, since there's nothing either of us can do to change it."

Honestly, I can't argue her logic. We finished the walk down to the den in silence, where I was met with a rather odd sight. Arrayed on the couch, all three Dursleys were sitting peacefully, staring off in a rather serene manner. The sheer unnaturalness – and I hate to use that word – of it all spooked me heavily. On the table before them, an old strongbox was broken open, its hinges rent apart and the contents it held scattered along the table. Old letters, a few wizarding photos that were peering at their frames and out into the world curiously, and the odd junk you always find in such a thing spilled out, as the two adults began to peruse the lot. "Sit down, Mr. Potter. This shouldn't take long."

Grousing about not having a choice in the matter, I slumped into one of my aunt's plush chairs and watched as people I don't know went through what I have to imagine were things left over from mom that Petunia never bothered to tell me existed. A sharp spike of anger drizzled down across my mind, casting the edges of my vision in red as I watched these strangers go through things that they had no right to.

It was a testament to the girl's attentiveness that she noticed the air starting to get heavy in the room, and prodded her father in the side, I later admit. With a gesture, the man shot a small stream of cold water from his wand, which thanks to my somewhat overly focused attention, hit me dead center in the face, literally cooling me off. Sputtering and spitting water, I let the glare that had been fixed on their hands migrate to his face, for all the good it did me. The man was a rock.

Shortly, they seemed to find what they wanted. "This is... " with a wave of a wand, the man made a sound of success. "Proof, finally. Give them the potion, I'll isolate the oath."

I watched the two begin their task, the man dropping an aged letter into what looked like a small, dull-gray box. Runes on the outside flared, as he twisted his wand against a polished stone in the device's side. While this was going on, the older woman dropped some potion into each Dursley's mouth, causing all three to look somewhat dazed and confused, rather than quietly serene.

"You three," the man pointed at the Dursleys with his wand, "Explain to me your relationship to this boy."

Looking from one to another a moment, the Dursleys seemed to come to some silent agreement. Petunia sat a little straighter, and answered, "He's the son of my sister. We care for him, now, over the summers."

That was... not the answer I had expected. Blinking slightly at my aunt's neutral tone, not really mechanical, but just apathetic, I sat back to observe the next question. Being more or less trapped, I figured it was best to gather information, rather than sit and fume. Besides, "I may learn something about my real family," the young wizard mused to himself.

It was the woman that fired off the next query, "Do you know who he is? And I don't mean just by name."

"Of course," the baritone of Vernon answers quickly. "He's a hero to the wizarding world."

I'm glad I'm sitting, otherwise I would have fallen down. It's embarrassing to admit, but I got lightheaded over that admission, and it takes a moment to regain my composure. Still stunned somewhat but curious, I looked between the now pensive wizard and witch, and his so-called family. "What did you feed them? What was that potion?"

Absently, the wizard answered me, "A mild truth compelling draught. Ah, of course." With a few gestures, he unlocked the blocky device, opening the lid. Again the questions were asked, only this time there were more familiar answers. Regaining their belligerence, the three replied to questions with frank disdain and insults as often as not.

"This is such a fascinating thing," the woman noted, shaking her head. "The letter only has a mild compulsion on it, to provide care, but something's gone terribly wrong."

"Muggles," the wizard noted, shaking his head. "Always forgetting that magic just doesn't work the same on them. Would have been harmless in a magical family," the man noted, closing the box again. "Seems to just exacerbate any hostility they harbored, but Merlin only knows what else. This is why there's a department just for this kind of idiocy in the Ministry."

The witch snorted disdainfully. "Right, and I'm sure this was something that Dumbledore would have happily listened to Croaker about." Standing from the loveseat, the woman gathered up the strongbox and its contents. "We'll be taking Mr. Potter with us. Sadly, we have to make some alterations to your memories."

Before a wand was raised, Petunia held up her hands, with a look I'd never seen on her face, as she looked to me. She was worried... about _me_. "Please! Before you do anything... what do you want with my nephew?"

Looking from one to another with grim expressions, the two magicals regarded Harry's aunt levelly. Finally, the wizard replied, "I wish to see his potential. Something he would never achieve here."

Petunia seemed to realize that was all the answer she would get, and relented, sitting back with a tired, worn look about her.

As the pair carefully Obliviated and memory charmed my relations, I began to wonder how bad things were going to turn, as well as wondered what the man's comment could mean. Frankly, it was the first time someone had voiced such a thing... most just expected something of me, or had some predetermined ideal I was to live up to.

It also didn't escape me that without whatever that piece of paper was, the Dursleys were actually nice. Or at least, nicer. I filed that away for later – too much was going on for me to deal with it all right now, and by the looks on the two conducting things, my questions wouldn't be answered. More pressing matters revolved around the two magicians, weaving new memories for my family. Were these people Death Eaters? With a jolt I notice that all three had their arms bared, despite the cold weather, showing only pale skin. Was it calculated? Did they do that on purpose, as a way to prove they weren't Death Eaters, without a song and dance I'd likely require for confirmation? Blinking rapidly, I absorb that little morsel of information and the questions associated, while trying to make sense of things.

A few moments, a few words and agreements later, and the Dursleys had signed away my guardianship to a Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass. Obviously it was under compulsion, but none of the agreements looked magical. Regardless, the two made duplicates, and kept them. Never again did the strange gray box get opened.

As I watched, something itched at my memory. It had something to do with the name... "Greengrass," I murmured, as memory supplied a scene to the name. Potions with the Slytherins. With a start, I looked back to the young woman, who I then recognized from the shared classes under Snape. "You're... Daphne?"

"Took you long enough, Potter."

"But, you're a Slytherin!"

All activity in the room halted, as the three other magicals turned slowly to face me. Despite the rising unease I'd had at the situation, it took some will to avoid blushing in the face of all three looking at me with some incredulity. "Why, yes. I am," the girl now owning the name Daphne drawled. "It's amazing how bright these Lions are, eh mum?"

"Don't be snide, dear," Mrs. Greengrass chided the younger witch, earning her a dirty, if veiled, look. Coming to stand before me, I couldn't help but shift nervously. They had my wand, and superior numbers. I suppose I could try to brawl my way out... but who am I kidding? I'm little better than a twig, and they'd have ample opportunity to hex me into next Thursday. The worst part was she noticed, and knew it all, which was obvious by the little smirk Mrs. Greengrass wore as she regarded me. "Why, Harry, would my daughter's House, of all things tonight, call your attention?"

I realized, at that point, secrecy wasn't terribly important. Oh, I'm not going to tell them everything, but honestly... I'm more than a little pissed off about this as well. The damn wards were supposed to keep this from happening! Obviously, someone was lying, as the man who he had to assume was Mr. Greengrass was pulling a Lockhart on my family, and without much effort, the couple had taken custody of me in the eyes of the law. Sure, Dumbledore could undo that, when he found out... I sighed, looking down at my hands, "The wards. They're supposed to keep anyone that means me harm, out."

Daphne snorted, turning away but paled when she caught sight of her mother's glare. "Be quiet, Daphne Marie."

Sufficiently cowed by the look, the young witch demurred, "Yes, mother."

"Harry – Mr. Potter," the man, Mr. Greengrass began somewhat haltingly, "I'm afraid there isn't a ward in existence that can shield you from such a broad range of threats."

"But, Dumbledore-"

"Is a politician," the man smoothly interjected, cutting me off. "He'll say what needs to be said – and no more!" Looking once to the now befuddled and dazed Dursleys, Mr. Greengrass came to join his wife before me. "Now, there were wards in place. We raised one or two of our own, in fact. The one you mentioned was so weak that we didn't notice it, but that may be because of circumstances."

It was no lie, "I don't understand."

Shooting a rather barbed look at her daughter, who cringed and made a quiet study of her shoes after, Mrs. Greengrass continued for her husband, "Well, to make it simple Mr. Potter, we don't mean you any harm."

If this were one of Dudley's telly programs, there would be the sound of a record skipping right at that moment. "E-Excuse me? But you're-"

"Oh come off it," Daphne snapped, glaring openly in my direction, ignoring her parents. "Lets get one thing clear. Are you Ronald Weasley?"

"What? Of course not-"

"Are you Draco Malfoy?"

I matched her glare this time, "You bloody know well enough I'm not."

Daphne crossed her arms, "Are you or are you not friends with Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger, and Sue Bones?"

Confused where this was going, and seeing no help from the elder Greengrass couple, I nodded mutely.

"Then bloody behave like you've a mind of your own!" Snapping out the last, the girl turned and nodded once to her parents, before stomping out of the splintered front door. Following close behind, her mother stalked off, a frankly frightening expression on her face. After a handful of moments, Mr. Greengrass pulled up a chair beside me.

"Mr. Potter," he began hesitantly, before seeming to come to a course, "What my daughter is trying so inelegantly to say, is that not all Slytherin's are bad." Leaning back and cracking his neck with a satisfied grunt – and a shiver from me – the wizard went on, "Current trends weight heavy on her, and us. Neutrality, which my family has used to be an asset, is now more a liability."

Good Slytherins? Wait, no... he said neutral. "So... no. You're right, I suppose," I mused, remembering their bared arms. "You're not marked. I mean, you could still be rather evil without it, but-"

"I know it's confusing," the man remarked, somewhat dryly. "You've had years of... training, for lack of a more caustic word, to think the way you do."

I bristled at the implication... before giving it a moment of real thought. Noncommittally I indicated a wary agreement.

Mr. Greengrass's expression softened somewhat. "We don't mean you any harm. We didn't mean your family any either, though it became somewhat strained as we learned more. Regardless of that, the ward you mentioned... it was weak. Horribly weak, and the only thing it does is trigger an alarm. It won't repel or bar entrance from anyone."

The nasty red border was creeping up on the world again, as I thought over those last words, and everything I was told. I had to come back here. Every year, I had to return, and why?

I wasn't stupid, not at all. I learned things by doing – I learned by pressure. The more you put on me, the faster I would go. Professor Lupin showed me that, and I've worked to make that idea mine since then. I thank that, for helping me deal with this latest dilemma. "House arrest," I murmured, eyes narrow. "It's not 'safe' here. He only wanted me here, so he could keep an eye on me."

Greengrass seemed to waffle on his response a moment before shrugging. "Perhaps. I am not one to judge."

Perhaps he's not, but I certainly am. "So. Why are you here then?"

Our 'guest' blinked a moment, as the silence let us hear the blistering argument outside between Mrs. Greengrass and Daphne. Her father and I shared a momentary, if strained smile, before he answered. "Straight to the heart of it. I guess Daphne wasn't joking. Alright, the bottom line of it is, we want your help, and can offer some of our own in return."

"My help," I blurt out, blinking rapidly. If he had asked me to start singing poetry, I'd have been less surprised. "With what? I'm still in school, I'm underage, I'm... well look at me!" Pointing to my rather unimpressive frame, I spare him an incredulous look.

Rather than acknowledge what I said, the man only asked a simple question. "What is your name?"

Mechanically, I answered, "Harry Potter."

With a sigh, the man stood. "And this is how we will help you, Mr. Potter. If you don't even know your full name, and what it carries, you will never live up to it."

"You mean the Boy Who Lived," I snap out, reflexively angry at yet another Lockhart wanting to cash in on my supposed fame – or infamy, more recently.

"No," Mr. Greengrass replied with some scorn. "I mean, Mr. Harry James Potter, of the Most August and Worthy House Potter. Regent Earl Ravensworth, Lord of Northumberland, Heir to the Baronies Collingwood, Evans, and Eslington."

I made a strangled noise, low in my throat, and took a deep breath. "What?"

Shaking his head slowly, the man continued, "Your family, as most wizarding kind has done in some way, married into or were part of the peerage. Old families that continue to have children collect titles like that woman down the lane collects Kneazles. Bring in a war, and they all end up being dumped back on fewer relations.

"In short, what all those words mean, is that your family owned some land, and did the Crown a few favors. That they're all named, rather than just residing under the blanket of Potter, means that it was branches of your family that owned them, rather than say, just your father or grandfather. Mundanes, even. Cousins, aunts, uncles. Hell, half of England can trace their family back to some king or another.

"War destroys families," Greengrass went on quieter, the lines on his face deepening with some weariness. "Those left, must carry on. With Grindelwald, then Voldemort, and now his second rising, those responsibilities fall to you."

What he said made sense, when I considered it. I knew nothing of my mother's or father's family – there could be some minor Barony involved easy enough. I'd heard here and there that some of my classmates had family in this or that circle or wizarding society, Longbottom being one of the more outspoken – and that mostly regarding his grizzly old witch of a grandmother.

My thoughts halted somewhat. Was that why Malfoy had approached me, my first year? A second, less pleasant if that were possible thought crept up then, recalling Mr. Greengrass's words. "My responsibility?"

The man snorted. "You think being a Lord or Baron is all title and pomp? How do you think those things occur? People rely on you for their well being. Those Baronies I listed, are the wizarding equivalent to... lets call them fiefdoms. We run a much more modern model of society, but for simplicity's sake, think of it as such.

"Those people work, tend the land, and pay a tax to you. That is what makes the titles carry weight. You represent your people. That representation gives you power, because it is ultimately you who they rely on for protections, fairness, and to voice their concerns."

I absorbed this with a kind of muted horror. People I didn't even know relied on me to protect them, not as the Boy Who Lived, but as the inheritor of a real responsibility. This... this was something utterly different. "Wha-why wasn't I told," I managed to choke out, still reeling from the information. Honestly, I don't know how many more jolts to the system I could take.

Greengrass regarded me levelly, then shook his head. "I can only conjecture, and that would not be fair," heaving a sigh, the man stood and offered me a hand. "That is why we came to you. Recently, the Wizengamot was approached by a representative of Collingwood. Apparently, whoever it was that masked your peerage from you, has been doing a piss-poor job of managing them as well. Garret Dorham approached the Wizengamot, intending to move the Barony from your family's name, to another, more attentive party."

Brilliant, I thought to myself. Not only was all this hidden, but whoever was doing so, was neglecting people. _In my name_. Regardless I know less about peerage and titles and land ownership under the Crown than I do of magic. "I don't know what I can do to fix this," I mutter, again looking at my hands. Useless hands, too small, too inexperienced to fix problems of this caliber.

"And that's why we came. The Greengrass family... has also fallen on hard times. I think that in time we can come to an understanding, mutually beneficial."

Before I could snipe out a comment on being used by someone else, what he said actually registered. "Mutually beneficial. Alright... ok. I'll bite.

"So, what next?"

Mr. Greengrass's face broke into a large grin. "First, I rescue my oldest from my dearest, then we get you and your things back to The Fields."

"The fields?" I asked curiously, not really understanding the man's words. The part of me I blame on Fred and George piped up and inquired if I was to work in a farm or somewhat, a question I thankfully stuffed back into the back of my thoughts.

The wizard nodded, standing and rubbing his hands together, "You are badly informed," he noted with a raised brow. "Most families have some name, or title for their homes that shortens the name, for Floo or the like. The Bones family had a rather amusing, if morbid one, for instance. Ours, with the family name being Greengrass, is The Fields."

In a way, it made a wizarding kind of sense. Which meant Hermione would be huffing and building up a rant. Personally, I thought it was somewhat fun. "Alright. I'll go with you..."

At that point I shot a look to my still-docile relations, which Greengrass read incorrectly. "Oh, don't worry about them. We'll fix everything up and have it all sorted out nice and legal by dawn tomorrow."

I let him keep thinking that was my concern. After all, it was better than letting him know that, if I could borrow his wand, I would Obliviate all memory of myself from the lot. I may be the Boy Who Lived – but that never made me a saint.


	3. Chapter 2

**Snakecharmer**

Chapter 2

Summerschool

–

The Fields were not what I had expected, with the way Mr. Greengrass had been speaking. Nor did our method of travel to get there. After all that had been talked about, and the liberal use of magic on my relations, I'd expected a portkey like I took with the Weasleys to the World Cup game. Instead, we walked one block, as Daphne's parents talked amicably about the neighborhood, as if they were buying a nearby property.

Daphne and I studiously ignored one another for the duration.

Finally, after nearly half an hour of walking and chatting, we looped back and came to a rather modest if very nice sedan, which I was bemused to see the Greengrasses pile into without much concern or lack of familiarity. Seeing that Mr. Greengrass wouldn't enter till I was settled, I quickly took the back seat beside their Slytherin daughter, and we drove off.

It was half an hour before I couldn't manage anymore, and finally asked, "Why do you have a car?"

From beside me, there was a muttered curse, as both Greengrasses checked their watches. Without another word, Daphne passed her mother a Galleon. "Not all magical families are so entrenched in tradition, or estranged from the modern world. A lot of our business dealings are with muggles, and some of our associates make quite the killing off of using magical means to facilitate imports and exports.

"It has the added benefit of being remarkably good cover for spellwork in public, and lends whatever muggle business we attend to an air of authenticity."

Here around me sat a family that did something I had despaired of ever seeing since my first year at Hogwarts and exposure to the Burrow. They made sense. Thinking my silence was disbelief, Daphne picked up where her mother left off, "Part of the tenet behind why people are sorted into Slytherin is ambition. There are billions of muggles worldwide. We would be fools not to capitalize on that, something our ancestors saw as well."

Brow furrowed, I nodded at the point, never having disagreed after all. Still, one thing caught my attention, "Ancestors? So the Greengrass family had muggle contacts for some time?"

"Like many, we never really stood by the firm division of the Statute. We sort of," here, the elder Greengrass paused, thinking. "I suppose we bend the rules, quite a bit. We employ what squibs we can, but there's invariably too many places to fill. We end up with a lot of muggles, working in places that isolate them from the real fireworks. It's old hat for a number of other families as well."

I had nothing really to reply with, and simply nodded. We rode in silence for a while, the view changing outside the window with unreal speed. It was much like my life, I felt. Out of my control, speeding by, carrying me along for the ride. Suddenly, my freedom from the Dursleys didn't feel so sweet. "You're risking a lot," I hazarded, dipping into my earlier melancholy, weary of the silence and the contemplation it brought. "You know who's after me, don't you?"

I met Mr. Greengrass' eyes in the rear-view mirror, and held them a moment. "We know," he replied quietly.

"Business is well and good, but you people aren't goblins," shaking my head, I returned to looking at the landscape, blurring by. "What else do you want?"

Free to do so, as she wasn't driving, Mrs. Greengrass turned, looking somewhat nervous. "There are a number of sayings, about war and business.

"Some say that war is good business. In some ways, that is true," the older woman admitted with a shrug. "For instance... right now, we could invest in healing potion ingredients, and work to broaden our contracts with the suppliers and shippers of the same. We could then set up frontend companies to supply those same potions to both sides."

I had to take a moment, and reign in my my anger at her flippant comment on possibly aiding Voldemort. Was this business? Profit before morality? I said it before – I'm no saint – but I do like to sleep at night, and be able to look myself in the eye, when I look in the mirror. So far, I'm doing ok. Barring random acts of self-styled Dark Lords. "Go on," I murmured, seeing her waiting on a response.

To her credit, she offered me a small, apologetic smile. "That was just an example. Now, the opposite, that war is bad for business is also true.

"Consider the Death Eaters a moment. These are not political insurgents. They kill, maim, torture." Sighing, the woman sat back and crossed her arms, still talking, but focusing distantly, lost in thought. Shortly, she continued, "Trade and business aren't the goals of those people. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will have no tolerance for the haggling we do to make our livelihood. Already we see hints of his prerogative with other neutral families, who deal with the darker side of things. They don't trade with coin, Mr. Potter. They traffic in threats. Think about the future, Mr. Potter. What kind of world, for people like us, will there be if... _he_ has his way?"

I'd never given such a thing much thought, and to be honest, it somewhat stunned me what she implied. An economist I'm not, but she had a point – what kind of impact would a maniac like Voldemort have on the way people, from farmers to tradesmen, lived, under his rule? So far, he'd certainly showed little regard for life, much less happiness and the consideration of effort. Wormtail's missing hand, came to mind and I grimaced.

Fear would move some to his side, I knew. The Greengrass' showed me another facet of things, though. One that reflected a more firm grasp of their world and how it related to and was tied with the muggle, as well as a desire to take a risk. I still didn't know why however, and was finding myself impatient with the woman's dodging. "Alright, I understand why you'd not join him, from a business standpoint. You still didn't answer my question, though."

"Why you?"

I nodded. "Why me."

Mr. Greengrass turned, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror again. "Unlike the Ministry, some have come to regard your... exploits at Hogwarts with some attention. I'm sure we don't know everything, but to an outside observer it seems clear that your fate is intertwined with that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"So, you don't follow the Prophet's propaganda campaign?" I pointedly ignored the venomous glance Daphne shot my way.

"Please, Mr. Potter," the girl's mother chided. "We are business-minded folk. We've learned to see embellishment and sensationalism for what it is."

"And, you're no Gilderoy Lockhart," Mr. Greengrass muttered, glaring slightly as the two women with us blushed in embarrassment.

For the first time in a long while, I relaxed. Here I sat, with my would be kidnappers, having an intelligent conversation. They didn't think I was an attention-seeking madman, or a liar and fraud.

This may not be such a bad summer, after all.

–

"I expect you both to have the first two chapters read by the time we set dinner." The door clanged shut behind a retreating Mrs. Greengrass. The faint sound of a lock caused me to sigh. "So much for an improvement," I murmur with some wry amusement.

"Shut up, Potter," my companion in this irritating situation is of course, my Slytherin counterpart, Daphne. "I wouldn't be forced into doing this if it weren't for you."

"Look," spinning in my chair, I slam the book before me shut. "This isn't my idea. Sure, I'd take any out short of Voldemort to get away from- Oh grow up!" I seethed, seeing the girl flinch at the name. "You know what? Forget it. Just keep your snide comments to yourself, Greengrass."

There are a lot of things I can deal with. Dursleys, Dumbledore, Dark Lords... but a bitchy girl sitting behind me making snide commentary as I read seems a bit much for me today. I manage to put up with it for a handful of minutes, before my anger gets the better of me. With a snarl I spun around and spat a stunning curse at her, monumentally pleased at the look of shock on her features, before her face planted itself in the book she'd been ignoring.

I turn back around, picking up my own text. I've never heard of the mind arts before coming here, figuring most magic was done with a wand. Then again, I'm not Dumbledore – I've only got four years of school behind me. Probably a lot out there I don't know.

A slight snore sounds from behind my desk, reminding me of my unwilling companion. I snicker, returning to my text, dull as it is, "Well, at least now one of us will get through with the reading."

Focusing on texts had never been my strong suit in school, in either world. This proved true yet again, as my mind wandered to why I was locked up in the Greengrass family's basement, with their less than pleasant oldest daughter.

Our arrival had been without fanfare, when the rolling hills and fields gave way to a small valley, shielding the modest manor within from casual view. "The Fields" as it was called, seemed a more than apt name for such a home. With a minimum of effort, the family and myself disembarked, my luggage and things shrunken and carried in my pocket.

Inside, the home reminded me of one of my neighbors, during one of the few times I'd been able to visit along with the Dursleys. It wasn't a doily-strewn nightmare like Ms. Figg's home, the manic clutter of the Burrow, or a stale and sterile showcase like the Dursley's. Paintings, non-magical in most cases, hung about the walls sparsely, leaving large open spaces. The roof was high, much higher than I was used to. I could probably do a few light Quidditch drills overhead without bothering anyone, I figured.

The floors were a polished hardwood, causing our shoes and boots in Mr. Greengrass' case, to tap and thunk as we walked around. I was shown the atrium, which was the tall room, the dining room, sitting room, and main hall, none of which had roofs quite as high as the entrance way. It was, I noted with some happiness, a modest, if nice home. What embellishment was there, seemed more for the home's beauty rather than to aggrandize the owners. Paint was a dark, soothing, night-on-fields green, while accents were a pale cream. It was a rather pleasant combination, and reminded me again that my rather stereotype-breaking hosts were, supposedly, all Slytherins. With a slight start, I had yet to confirm this... perhaps a question for later.

I was then shown to my room, which to my happiness wasn't so large as to make me feel uncomfortable. It seemed the Greengrass family had a comfortable, if not grand, income. Or perhaps they just didn't flaunt it like Malfoy seemed wont to. The room had a private bath, small and cozy, a covered bed, a window overlooking the valley outside, a writing desk, and an empty bookshelf.

While being shown about, I was introduced to the youngest Greengrass, a small blonde child who would be starting her third year at Hogwarts, come fall. Like her mother, she was slight of frame and delicate looking, reminding me somewhat of Luna till I met her eyes. Pale brown, almost hazel, they were the eyes of someone looking over a potential resource, taking in what she could and filing it away for later use.

I had no doubt where this one would go, I had mused as we continued the tour. She made no secret of looking me over, tilting her head and analyzing my admittedly poor dress, but making no judgments. Eventually she'd returned her gaze to my eyes, only paying the slightest attention to the scar, and nodded slightly. I didn't know properly what to reply to such open appraisement, so only nodded once in reply, which seemed to be the right thing to do as she smiled brightly.

This yet again reinforced my opinion that I'll never understand girls, large or small.

Daphne, at least, was rather openly hostile if reigned in by her mother most times. That hostility was beginning to grate on my nerves, as I don't recall doing anything to the girl to earn such venom.

She was, if I remembered correctly, a part of the Slytherin House that didn't toady up to Malfoy's pomp and posturing. She, the boy Blaise, and Tracey Davis had their own, quiet, unobtrusive little clique that kept to themselves, minus some forced interactions here and there within classes. With a start, I realized that Daphne was as often as not, paired with Neville of all people, in Herbology and Potions, these last two years.

It was during that moment of realization that we reached what I decided later to call the dungeons. "These are our safe rooms," Mr. Greengrass had explained, opening up a large metal door that lead to a small classroom, by appearances. "Fully shielded from scrying and magical direction spells. They cost nearly two year's income to build."

"Holy..." I openly gawked at that point. These things? The walls were stone, rough-cut and cold looking, while the floor was of similar stone. The only comforting affects the room carried happened to be a picture, seemingly painted of the view outside, with a couple sitting on a blanket for a picnic. I noted that this one was magical, as the grain fields beyond were swaying to a wind that blew across them, making the expanse look like a golden sea.

"Quite," Mr. Greengrass demurred, smiling slightly. "This is where you will spend your first two weeks here, or until you master the defensive arts mentioned in the books on those desks."

Blinking once, I looked back to those same desks, and noted the thick, new, rather unpleasantly school-like book there. Then my eyes turned to the stone walls and floor, then back to him, incredulously. "Stay... here?"  
Nodding brusquely, the man closed the door behind us all, coming to stand by the picture at the front of the room. "This is the classroom. Next door is the spell room, and after that, the bunks. You will only be required to stay in these three rooms till you master a way to mask your mind."

"Why do I need that?"

Greengrass nodded once, seemingly expecting my question. "Two reasons, I can think of with some certainty.

"Your position in our world, as the bearer of the titles I mentioned, requires you to make decisions and know information that would be very valuable to an enemy, competitor, or spy." I blinked at that, considering. Mr. Greengrass seemed to understand my hesitation, and pressed on, "Imagine being an ambassador. You have military and tactical knowledge, that could break not only the political trust of your position, but endanger those same people in your homeland.

"Now, imagine that your position caused you to be in contact with someone versed in the mind arts, allowing them access to your thoughts." I'm no fool – that would be a disaster. It would be doom for not only myself, my position, the status of my country in such a place, and the people implicated...

"I see," I murmur quietly, nodding.

With a smile, Greengrass clasped me on the shoulder. "Good lad. This is something most of the children and heirs of the peerage learn, at least to a degree. It helps keep a good poker face for the inevitable debate, and shields your mind, from casual perusal." Wrinkling his nose, the man sighed. "Unfortunately, a directed attack by a skilled Legillimens will break all but those with some natural talent at the defensive art. That will require a wand, and the incantation, however."

I mull this over and nod. Obviously, a Legillimens, as he called it, is someone versed in the offensive side of the mind arts... interesting. The implications were something that I hoped to follow up on in the texts – provided they didn't bore me to death.

"Now, the second reason, is much less innocent." Taking a seat to the side, Mr. Greengrass motioned me to sit at a desk. "As I said, these rooms are warded. Occlumency, the defensive art, will give you some protection against spells that seek you out specifically."

"How? If the magic is looking for me, why does protecting my mind defeat it?"

Nodding at the question, Mr. Greengrass indicated the book before me. "It relates to the nature of self and magic. To put it simply, if you fully hide the idea of "Harry Potter" from the world with magic, then magic cannot find Harry Potter."

Closing my eyes and trying to work that out in my head, I have to wonder on the laws that govern magic. Sometimes they just didn't make sense. "But... I'm still Harry Potter, regardless."

"Hence, why true Occlumency is very difficult," the man replied easily. "I'm no master, no one in this house is, in fact. So, I won't be able to give you a first-hand account. I do believe in the principal however, as it seems valid."

I consider it, but realize regardless of the how of it all, Greengrass' reasons are sound, and I do need something like this. Besides, I don't really fancy staying in these rooms all summer... "Alright. So, I learn Occlumency, and I get to leave these rooms?"

"Please, don't think of it like a punishment," Mr. Greengrass asked, holding his hands up. "I must protect my family. Even with our wards, a powerful spell seeking you or a trace on you will point here. With the training in that book, much of that can be minimized, and the wards should compensate."

"Should?"

The man laughed quietly. "You will find, that for the moment, I am very much in line with your family motto. 'Who dares, triumphs'. I am willing to take a calculated risk in this, on you."

If there's one thing I really appreciate, it's people being up front with me. It was never so much of a hangup until after Hogwarts, but for the obvious reasons, I've begun hating secrets. I like to think I have a pretty good sense of people, that I know good from bad. Oh, there's no doubt I've been wrong, but Mr. Greengrass strikes me as an alright sort.

Besides, even these dungeons are better than Dudley's second bedroom. Plus, it's not like I have to stay there all summer. Just learn Occlumency, and I'm free.

Should be a snap.

"Oh. And since you are year mates with my daughter, and she will know of much that goes on, she will be joining you for these lessons."

Well, shit.

–

Our first day of study settled down on us with a familiarity born of sharing Potions classes with Snape.

With a slow feel of tension, like a rope going incredibly tight then snapping, the tightness in my back released with a resounding crack. "Aaahh... better."

"Sweet Merlin that's disgusting." With a slight sneer, I cast a Sonorous charm on my hand... then cracked my knuckles. Daphne shuddered, her eyes closing as she paled. "I hate you so much."

Yep, I mused, still got it. "How are your studies going," I asked, peering over my now-raised text.

Daphne shot me a glare, her blue eyes flashing. "Fine. Now shut up so I can continue."

I waited a score of minutes, before humming an annoyingly catchy tune. Without warning, my Slytherin companion whipped out her wand and slapped a silencing charm on me, ending my small serenade. While I was working to remove the charm, the dungeon door clanged open and an angry Mrs. Greengrass stormed in.

"One day," she noted, glaring from Daphne to me, then closing her eyes. "You two have been working on this one _day_, and you have accomplished what? Infighting? Quarreling like children?" Pointing a finger at Daphne imperiously, the woman snapped, "Explain yourself!"

Daphne bowed her head and shook it slightly, indicating she had no explanation. Or, at least one that was sufficient. I realized this at about the same time I realized I lacked the same.

It didn't help that the suddenly imposing woman's gaze was on me now. "Mr. Potter? Care to explain?"

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but stopped. Closing my eyes a moment, I just shook my head slightly as well. "I have no good reason."

"Then, I suggest you both put away these childish notions, and concentrate on your studies. This is no game," crossing her arms, Mrs. Greengrass glared at the two of us. "The wards are not perfect. The longer Mr. Potter remains here – and no, daughter, that will not change – the more risk we are all in. Do you think that Dumbledore and his fools will let him go? Do you imagine that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will let his continued existence, and insult to his position and power, go unchallenged? The Ministry too has a stake in you, Mr. Potter."

Leaning back and sighing, I wondered at that. The others I understood. The Ministry... "Why? I thought they didn't believe me."

Mrs. Greengrass snorted. "Fudge is a fool, a buffoon, and an incompetent. You openly challenged his peaceful reign, one that has never had a threat like You-Know-Who shadowing it. He knows that such a thing would destroy him, and hopes beyond sense that you are lying. In discrediting you, he can assure his position."

"But I'm not lying."

"As I said," the woman noted, "he is a fool.

"Regardless, your task is not one for fools," her manner sharpened quickly, putting both of us on the defensive. "Your life, Mr. Potter, depends on this. And since we stand in the way of those who want you, ours does as well."

I sucked a breath through my teeth. She definitely had a way to put things into perspective. "I understand."

The woman narrowed her eyes at me, and I found myself envying the ghosts at Hogwarts and their ability to sink through the floor. If it meant ducking that glare, I was considering ghosthood at that moment. "I doubt that you truly do understand," she replied, but her tone wasn't accusing. "But I trust you will not make similar mistakes in the future." Without another word, she spun and exited the room, leaving behind the familiar clang of the door, and the throwing of locks.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to the still form of my companion. "So..."

Daphne swallowed nervously and nodded. Judging by the princess's paleness, I wager Mrs. Greengrass' bark is _not_ worse than her bite. "Yeah."

"Truce?" I punctuate the question by holding out my hand.

She takes it, still looking a little pale at our dressing-down by her mother. "Sure," the murmured, before shaking a little more sense into herself. Looking back up with her glacial eyes, she met my own. "But I still hate you."

I couldn't help laughing.

–

House elves, as always, are wondrous and very creepy things.

All I heard was a squeaky voice, and Daphne falling out of her chair with a muffled yelp, as I brought myself out of my meditation.

"...-ssy Nee, Missy Nee! The nasty Knot boy sends you a message!"

Alright. This one isn't Dobby – not enough hats – so it must belong to the Greengrasses. That it seemed intent on relaying its message by screaming in Daphne's ear, while being wrapped around her head makes me wonder if Dobby is actually on the saner end of the house elf spectrum. I am suddenly very glad that somewhere, Dobby is having a nice, happy, free-from-Malfoy life. Far away from me.

"Gally! Get off my face!"

Very glad.

"But Missy Nee! Gally has message!"

I try really hard not to think about the fact that the elf is practically vibrating, while it crows its greeting seemingly over Daphne's head. I know if I laugh, then at some point Dobby will invariably end up mimicking this facehumping horror, and I truly, truly do not want that.

Daphne seems to have had quite enough, as I come to that conclusion. "Gally! Wall! Now!" The tiny salute, don't ask me how this Gally elf could manage it while still vibrating and facehumping, was followed by the elf launching itself at a wall, colliding with it face first then falling down into a heap. "Godsforsaken elf is absolutely mad!"

I blink from one to the other, before losing what control I have and bursting out with laughter. "Oh, oh Merlin that was-"

My little tirade cuts off abruptly, as I'm now face to face with said mad elf. "Who is yous?"

Oh sweet Morgana on a bike, I'm going to die. "Er, I'm-"

Gally – at least I think that's what this one is named – looks me over rather critically. It's dressed in a toga-like wrap, a little dirty but not horribly so. Lived in, I think the phrase is. I scamper away slightly, putting some distance between myself and the crazed little... thing. "Yous is not nasty Knot boy."

That sound of a record skipping? Yeah, there it goes again. "Theodore Nott?" I look over to Daphne, to see her shudder once, a slight green tinge to her face. Frankly, I'm lost. "No, I'm not... Nott." Does being around house elves for extended periods of time make you insane? It would explain Dumbledore nicely. I'm beginning to wonder...

"Nasty Knot boy not be liking yous being with Missy Nee."

"Missy... Nee? Knee?" I do a fair impression of Hedwig, and blink at Daphne, before pointing her way. "Knee?"

"Nee," the elf corrects me, and I know this because it glowers and shakes somewhat like it has some dire need for a restroom. Merlin let it just be insane...

Daphne took this point to clear her throat. "Gally, you are forbidden to speak of my guest to anyone. Is that clear?"

"But, Missy Nee-!"

"Forbidden!"

The insane elf toed the ground and nodded slightly. "Yes, Missy Nee."

Relaxing and slumping slightly, the girl held out her hand. "I'll take the message now." Gally was more than happy to oblige, and I'm more than happy to dodge the little thing's stare and questions. For once I happily agree with my often less-than-pleasant company. Godsforsaken house elves.

Once the tiny terror was gone, we both relaxed, and what started as a chuckle – her at my scampering attempt at escape, me at her hair, which was doing a fair impression of my own at that point – quickly turned into us both laughing ourselves silly. "Sorry about Gally... she's somewhat of a nuisance we picked up some time ago."

"I can tell," I manage between laughs, settling back on my hands. The floor isn't comfortable, but I am, so I let it go. "What was all that about Nott though?"

At that, Daphne winced and I could imagine the tension she'd been showing was over this particular topic. Still, considering the boy and his company at Hogwarts, I'd rather know than not, considering I know precisely how 'loyal' and elf can be, when they choose not to be. "One of my father's contracts called in a debt to the Nott family. They paid with Gally... and I curse that moment at least twice a day."

I stifle a chuckle. "Really? I can't imagine why."

Her glare shut me up, but I was still grinning. "Well, Gally apparently was Nott's personal – Theo's I mean – elf, and I guess he had or has, something of a crush on me."

I shudder, recalling the unkempt, neanderthallish brute from Quidditch. "My condolences," the mocking tone isn't missed, and Daphne banishes a desk into my shin, reprimanding me smartly. Rubbing feeling back into it, I grimace, "So the little terror still has holdovers from dealing with dear Theo?"

"Apparently," she drawled, shaking her head. "Worse, I think at times the little pest is actually spying on me. We bonded her, so she has to follow direct orders, but those can be remarkably leaky assurances."

Don't I know it. "I'm glad I'm not the only one with a crazed elf," I mutter, finally pulling myself up to my desk again.

"You have an elf?" Daphne looked somewhat stricken, before shrugging it off. "Why did you live in that... condition, then?"

I really should have expected that, with how I set myself up. "No, it's not the usual way. At least I don't think so," I murmur, leaning back. Realizing the other half of my conversation was behind me, I flip the desk around. "My elf... well not my elf _per se_ but rather the one that likes me a lot, I got freed from Malfoy."

This got the dark-haired girl's attention, and she looked thoughtful a moment before snapping her fingers. "Oh, you mean Do-"

I was over our desks and had my hand over her mouth before she got out another syllable. "Shhh! You _will not_ summon The-Elf-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Wide blue eyes regarded me a moment before Daphne started laughing again, and I fell back, letting her breathe. "Sorry. So I guess that one's as bad as..." she made a vague gesture toward her flyaway hair and the letter, to which I nodded. "I see. Why haven't we seen him then? What about that house?"

"He's not bonded," I replied, warming somewhat to the conversation. "I freed him, but he more or less works for Dumbledore now, I think. As for the Dursleys, well." The pause drew out, and I considered what we were doing. Studying and training the mind arts, to protect ourselves and our secrets. I didn't trust Daphne, make no mistake. I didn't know her from Eve. That aside, quite a few people knew about my living conditions already, so why not Daphne? She at least I reasoned had cause not to use it against me, and if she did, there would be hell to pay.

Mrs. Greengrass was not one with which to fuck, it seemed.

I nodded, more to myself than my company, "The Dursleys weren't the kindest people. They hated magic, wizards, all of it. I was, for them, as embarrassing as I understand a squib would be to the Malfoys."

Daphne had the grace to wince at that. "But... you're _Harry Potter_."

I smiled mirthlessly. "And to muggles, that means...?"

"Ah," she replied succinctly.

The truth is, I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the sense of camaraderie we had for a few moments. A feeling that she was an anchor in the craziness that was quickly taking over my summer. That in itself was something I was just beginning to come to grips with. I was isolated, cut off from anything familiar – except for Daphne. If I died, right then, no one would ever have to know. That was a feeling, sadly, I was familiar with. Looking back at the moment, just after, I was honestly shamed, a little horrified, and embarrassed. Still, hindsight is 20-20, and I've never shown a talent for strategic planning. Before I continued, I'd unbuttoned my shirt, and turned again, standing. "They hated magic," I declared to the painting, a sense of detachment falling over me. With a flip of a hem, and a reach behind my shoulder, I took hold of the bottom back of my shirt, pulling it up over my head. Seeker's agility is a handy thing.

Behind me, I heard the black-haired Ice Princess of Slytherin draw in a breath between her teeth. My back isn't the prettiest thing in the world, these days. The Horntail left its mark, one that never will fade, thanks to the nature of dragons. That scar arcs over my shoulder, from my collarbone to shoulder blade, and will forever be a dusky brown, reminiscent of the scales of the beast that I had bested. That though, is the only badge I wear with pride.

Crisscrossing my spine, from shoulder to hip, I have scars. Narrow, sometimes wide, all old, all faded, but still there. There are, I recall, three pairs of tracks, where the scars are deeper, thicker, and more ragged. Those weren't the result of belts, like the others, but the buckles and the teeth they had, to fasten them. Tears don't heal as cleanly.

Vernon got better, I don't know whether it was from fear, or just the evolution of the man, but he did. After I turned eleven, he never touched me like that again, but the threat was still there. He got louder, to compensate, and the demands around the house were worse.

If it wasn't for Dudley, a few of those times, before Vernon calmed down, could have been much worse. There's no love lost between my cousin and I. I don't think he opted into my uncle's place to save me, but I won't deny the look of remorse and apology, when Vernon wasn't watching. Dudley 'learned' to hate unnaturalness, and I got a more sympathetic torturer. He never taunted or hurt me again, unless it could get back to Vernon, and we had quiet moments here and there. He shoved bandaids I couldn't get onto my back, under my door a few times.

My eyes close, and the itch behind them annoys me. _"I won't miss them,"_ I hiss in Parsel, lapsing, from the force of my memories. In a voice more suited to human ears, I murmur, "They hated what I was."

"They... hated you?"

She's right behind me, and I can practically feel her hand hovering over my back. _No_. I don't want pity, it wasn't about pity. It's easier to understand this way, but _god fucking damnit I don't want pity!_ "No," I correct thickly, spinning around and backing up a few steps. "They hate magic. Hate wizards."

Daphne's face is a mask of horrified denial. What the fuck was I thinking... "But you said-"

"You think they left records? Dumbledore _hid me_," I bite out. "I was a ghost. I tried to find something about my parents in elementary school." She gave me such a blank look that I cursed. "Muggle school. When you're small. I looked up my records one day when the principal wasn't there. I got caught of course, but there wasn't anything there. Just an admittance form. I had no past. I couldn't."

My companion just tracked me with her eyes, as I buttoned my shirt back up, and took my seat again. I ran a nervous hand over the cover to _Mind Your Mind: An introduction to the mental arts_. "You don't get it." I sighed, letting my forehead rest on the thick tome. "Right. Imagine you have no records. Nothing. No Hogwarts files, nothing in the Ministry. You, and your relatives, and that's it.

"Now, remember what I told you. What you saw. They hated magic. They didn't hate me."

"But... your back-"

I hissed out a breath and shut my eyes tight. I don't want to talk about this any more. "I'm still alive."

The silence that followed said enough. She got the point.

We spent a subdued afternoon discussing the text. I have a better grasp of it than she does, but thanks to all the mental noise that clutters my mind, I can't pull my focus down enough to even think of beginning. Instead, we sat aside the books and tempted fate, talking about Quidditch, growing up magical, how muggles are insane, and what we were going to try tomorrow, when the both of us weren't so wound up.

I'm just glad I didn't have to deal with The-Elf-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named along with the rest. Dobby's great and all, but I can only deal with so much insanity in one sitting.

–


	4. Chapter 3

**Snakecharmer**

Chapter 3

Cause and Effect

–

Hermione taught me something, I think early second year, called causality. I don't rightly recall what it had to do with magic, but I took too it easy enough in regard to pretty much anything else. It was one of those fundamentally makes sense kind of things, that just slips into your head and becomes a part of the day to day.

Which is why I'm not really too surprised that I'm strapped down, face down in some kind of doughnut-shaped pillow, with my back exposed to open air when I wake up. Rather than struggle and upset whoever is doing whatever to me, I spend a few minutes blinking my eyes clear, swallowing to clear my throat, and scrubbing my teeth with my tongue. No sense being utter unpresentable when I start screaming bloody murder at the people responsible, after all. It isn't much, but I don't feel like a half-blind, cottonmouthed, stale-breathed lout when I start cursing fit to give a sailor red ears.

State of mind is important to getting one's point across, you know. If I don't feel that I put in a decent effort, then I won't have the satisfaction of a job well done after.

When I wake back up, I'm right side up, and there's the feeling that I just tapped an electrical socket with a fork working its way through my fingers. An ennervate. Which means I was stunned... "Alright, which one of you soon to be sacks of dead meat stunned me, and saw fit to fucking examine me like a lab specimen?"

I don't recognize the voice. "Well, he's got a rather foul mou-"

"ANSWER ME!"

Having bad vision is a real bitch sometimes. Without my glasses, the world is just one big, blurry, indistinct and annoying smear that pisses me off to no end. Today at least. Tomorrow may be better, but today, not so much.

One of the blobs, wearing white and looking somewhat like a bowling pin, waddles forward. "Mr. Potter, you must understand-"

Wrong answer. "I must? _I must?_" There was this movie, old as sin, I think. It was a classic or something, that used to get played in elementary now and then, during science class. The teacher had this thing about fictional science. We had to write a small oral report on three things we could see that didn't make sense with the movie, and three that did. Simple. We were kids, after all – he wasn't looking for feet of analysis. Just have fun.

One thing stuck with me though. It isn't anger that makes you strong. Oh no. It's _rage_. Anger isn't hot enough. It's too undirected. Too broad. I can be angry with a school, a rule, a mistake. Rage, fury – those take _focus_. It didn't take much for me to figure out that all those weird, unexplained, rather odd things that happened when I was young were magic, after a week or two in Hogwarts. It was only natural to think back on them, and figure out what it was that triggered them, or what was going on. I was upset – really happy, embarrassed, sad, angry, afraid. It didn't matter which. But I was focused on it.

I'm feeling pretty fucking focused right now. "If I'm not let loose from here in five seconds, I'll do it myself – and someone is going to bleed." Maybe everyone's expecting the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Maybe a threat of physical violence is really unusual. Maybe I look as furious as I am, but the end result isn't someone coming to loosen the bindings, but the whole lot taking a step back, probably in surprise. A year ago I wouldn't be so furious, after all. I'd be scared, or upset and curious first, angry later maybe.

No, now I have the lovely memories of being tied down to a tombstone as the very last thing that I felt really connected me with my mother was stolen from me by a snake-faced son of a bitch who was so afraid of dying, he built an entire empire of fear around himself for protection. Want to see me go from calm to murderous in three seconds flat? Tie me down.

There's a shuffle of cloth, another blob moves, and someone – female – clears her throat. "Mr. Potter, we're a group of healers hired by-"

"I don't care," I snarl out, lips peeled back as I strain on the thick leather cuffs around my ankles and wrists. Tension is running through me like a current, and it burns. White and furious and I don't mind. "Cut me loose!"

"We can't do that until you're calm."

I arch, my body only contacting the bed in five places. Hands, feet, and the back of my head. I feel it all settle in my chest, like someone is squeezing my lungs and everything soft inside me with a huge, soft, hot hand. I want out, I want out, _I need out, need out_-

Motion catches my eye, and I see the tell-tale gesture of someone pulling a wand. Something between my eyes and my brain snaps a little, like a twig bent too far. Not in half, just splintered.

The Parsel spits out from between my lips in a rush, "_Alohamora!_"

I can't see them but I _know_. Every lock, fasten, catch, and closure within a few meters of me comes undone. That includes those holding me down. I'm up and on the first, closest person as if I was launched, and with the much-closer distance, I can see their expression, their face finally.

She looks like Madam Pomfrey, only younger. The family resemblance is in the hair, the way the face is shaped. The lines around her eyes aren't from frowning – they're the wrong direction, wrong place. She'd be pretty, if her face wasn't screwed up in surprise and horror.

This person is afraid of me.

She has reason to be afraid of me.

I made someone fear me.

I roll off her, and to the side and just lean against the bed I was recently on, breathing hard and watching everything around me warily. The rage is gone, burned down and dry and brittle, and it brought me with it, making me feel the same. Exhausted down to my bones. The world is still a massively indistinct smear, but the people-blobs are keeping their distance, and no one is going for a wand. This is good. I don't want to see that look in someone else's eyes. Collecting my breath finally, I growl out in a voice I barely recognize, "Where am I?"

A door opens, at least that's what it sounds like, "H-Harry?"

What fury was still in me drained away at that voice. Maybe I'm not somewhere so far afield then. "Daphne?"

"I heard something from my room... what's going on?"

Her room? "What?"

"Mr. Potter, you didn't give us a chance to explain," one of the healer-blobs, the ones in white, tried to explain. I turned, nodding for them to continue. "Mr. Greengrass called for us."

I knew the answer as I asked, but it didn't make sense. "Why?" Why would he care, now? It was all in the past. Nothing these people could do would change scars – and even if they could, I wouldn't want it.

A dark-haired blob pressed my glasses into my hand. After a short explanation on why I was stunned to begin with, we all settled down with Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass to discuss what was found.

"So you stunned me to do some tests? Why?"

From his place at the long table, the Greengrass' dinner table which was big enough to seat us all, the man explained, "My mother had a saying, 'It's easier to ask forgiveness, than permission'. I was practicing a bit of her wisdom here.

"It would be conductive to our goals if you were healthy," he continued, motioning to the healers that were still present. I glanced around the table, taking in the faces of those around me with a frown. There really is no secret, I'm not in the best shape. Being a Quidditch Seeker didn't take a lot of muscle, just speed and good eyes. Years of eating too little at the Dursley's table didn't let me really hit my growth, and whether I liked it or not, I was typically shorter than my year mates. And sometimes those a few years below me. Mr. Greengrass broke into my thoughts, speaking to those gathered, "There is a lot depending on you, Mr. Potter. I hope you realize, that in many ways it is vital for you to be at your best."

I fix Daphne with a glare, before nodding once. She has the grace to look away, embarrassed that she was caught out I suppose. There was nothing really that kept her from sharing what she saw, but regardless I felt betrayed. "Whatever," I mutter, slumping back in my chair.

One of the healers spoke up, next. "When would you like us to begin treatments?"

There was a glance shared between myself and Mr. Greengrass, and I imagine he's wondering how our studies are going. I nod, letting him know we'll be finished on time. "Two weeks," he declared, conferring with the healers. They of course wanted to step it up – immediately of course – but there was no way what they intended could be accomplished on the grounds of The Fields. Greengrass declined, stating there were prior arrangements that must be met first.

More conversation revealed that the treatments they had planned were... unpleasant. Between them, a rough schedule of what was to be done was produced, and both Greengrasses blanched at reading it. Eventually I was sent a copy... and I had to admit, it didn't look fun. Having most of my bones vanished and regrown, tissue replaced, then a lengthy fitness regimen after to get me used to what equated to a new body. It wouldn't be fast, but the payoff would be good... still... "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

Daphne, quiet up to this point, finally spoke up, "What do you mean? How can you not want to?"

"I don't have time," I replied, pushing the paper away. "This would take weeks to complete, maybe months. Sure, I have all summer, but there are other things I need to do." Reaching up and rubbing at the bridge of my nose under my glasses, I spare Mr. Greengrass a glance, seeing him torn. I don't know, of course, all the things he had planned for the summer. With the Occlumency training, I can only guess there would be more, other lessons, probably something to do with the titles he mentioned or the politics he's implied. Being bedridden regrowing limbs wouldn't really fit into his plans, I bet.

Then... why set this up? My eyes narrow, as I try to feel out Mrs. Greengrass and Daphne as well. The woman looks pensive, as if considering an unpleasant choice, but her eyes keep straying to the list. Daphne is staring back at me, as if trying to convince me just with the intensity of her eyes to do the treatments.

"We will consider it," the man finally answered, holding up a hand to stave off any comments. "There is plenty of time to be had, if one uses it properly. I will contact you later, with our final decision," Mr. Greengrass informed the healers, leaving pretty much everyone disgruntled in some way or another.

"But... father-"

"No, Daphne. This is Mr. Potter's decision." I could see it didn't sit well with the girl, but she didn't voice another complaint. I should feel touched that she either cared enough to put this idea forward, or annoyed that she would interfere so openly. Maybe it says something about me that I can't believe it to be the former. To Daphne's left, I noted Astoria giving me a rather inscrutable look, leading me to believe that she took more after Mr. Greengrass in personality, where Daphne followed her mother's more impassioned ways. Disregarding the odd looks, I still found myself curious on the elder daughter's reasons. Believing her motives – any of the Greengrasses for that matter – to be purely benevolent just felt like a disaster in the making.

When the healers were finally dismissed, I rose to go back to my rooms in the basement, but Mr. Greengrass asked me to stay. Dinner was served – Daphne and I were used to eating in the dungeons, but this wasn't an unpleasant change – and through it we talked of lighter things.

For the most part.

Once the meal was over, Mr. Greengrass took me aside, to the sitting room and with a sense of deja vu, we sat in a pair of the loungers much like we had at Privet. "Mr. Potter, I... would ask that you not hold what happened earlier against Daphne."

Not precisely how I thought this would begin. Deciding to forego smalltalk, I got directly to the point, "I don't see how it was any of her business. I... informed her of those scars to prove a point. That was all."

"And she got it, trust me," the other man muttered, looking to his hands wearily. "She was up till rather late this morning with her mother being quite irate and asking questions we didn't have answers to."

Confused, I quite honestly replied, "I don't understand."

Getting up with a quiet huff, Mr. Greengrass began to pace slowly before the large fireplace that sat central to the wall, on the right as you entered the room. "Do not take this the wrong way. You do not understand what it is to be a wizard."

Alright, warned or not, that comment still pissed me off. It just smacked of the bigoted, blood-purist nonsense I hear from the snake's House every godsforsaken year. "Excuse me? What the hell-"

"I'll explain if you can control your temper," Mr. Greengrass snapped, halting to shoot me a glare. "Let me remind and enlighten you to a few facts that may have escaped your notice.

"The ability to use magic, that which defines us from muggles, is an increasingly rare trait," he continued in a less waspish tone, once I'd settled back down. "We are lucky, Evie and myself. She is from a rather long pureblood line, like myself, and we have our two wonderful daughters to show for it."

I really don't get it, and I'm sure it shows on my face. Mr. Greengrass seems to be considering something till he rolls his eyes and slaps his forehead, "Right, of course. You're first contact with a magical family was the Weasleys, yes?"

As usual, I bristle slightly, but relax when I think on the question and realize it is just that – not an incrimination or insult. "Yeah. I've spent some time during my summers at their home."

Nodding, the elder Greengrass sat and regarded his interlaced fingers for a long moment. "I'm going to tell you some things that are held in confidence. Some things I should not know, and should not be telling you, by the edicts of tradition and polite society. As such, we never had this conversation, agreed?"

Cottoning on, I nod. "Never happened."

"Good lad. Now, the Weasleys and their... prodigious family, are a direct result of Mrs. Weasley's – Molly's – brothers Gideon and Fabian.

"They were contemporaries of my time in school, and were quite the pair. I believe you have a rather similar set of twins currently attending?" I nodded, recalling Fred and George. "Yes. Believe they were named in memory of the brothers. Anyway, back to the point.

"Gideon and Fabian were quite the pair," Mr. Greengrass noted, with a pensive scowl. "One of my more... close acquaintances had a falling out with them, and got herself expelled laying a curse ritual down on them, and by extension, their family for what she referred to as a 'deplorable exploitation of her trust'."

"I don't understand."

"Like your twins, so were Gideon and Fabian."

That didn't help. "But, that doesn't explain-"

"Celestine – my friend," the way he said friend made me think of the way people would talk about a former... oh. I straightened my face out so not to blush too much as he continued, "She was dating Fabian."

I blinked. I blinked again. My eyes shot wide as the implications set in. "Oh. Oh! Oh..."

"Indeed," the man drawled. "I hear that Fredrick and Gregory are as much the pranksters. Regardless, that indiscretion lead to the Weasley line curse you may have heard a bit about?" I had not, and indicated so. "Well, the long and short, is that apparently Celestine only reinforced an already active curse. It seems that mischief bred as true as the hair. The conditions on the curse were that it would carry on, and that the Weasleys would have nothing but sons till some unlucky woman managed to bear six magical sons. Molly I hear has broken that curse."

My thoughts immediately turned to Fred and George, however. "Would it be out of line for me to warn the twins off... repeating history?"

"Merlin no. Please, if they'll listen to you, consider it a personal favor to my family and due a boon in return," Mr. Greengrass replied with open fervor. Apparently, I would be having a chat with the twins when I got back to Hogwarts. "We have strayed from the point, however. That curse has haunted the line for some time. It has done them some good, however. As you may have guessed, I share that with you for a reason. That is this: the Weasleys are the exception to the rule, when it comes to children."

As he was speaking, I was coming to the same conclusion. It just seemed the only purpose to that line of discussion, really. "So, other families don't have so many?"

"As I stated, Evie and I are lucky, with our two daughters. For a direct answer – no. It is rare to an extreme for pureblood families to have more than one magical child, and considering that most wizards in times of peace often live for upwards of one hundred and fifty years... I hope you see the implications."

And did I. "So... Daphne was upset, because no wizard would treat their child like that."

"Perhaps I should clarify, though it will no doubt be, ah, hard to stomach," Mr. Greengrass haltingly said. I didn't like that, not a bit. "Purebloods rely heavily on tradition and the inherited mores of their families. To damage a child, particularly an heir, is tantamount to declaring that you care not at all for your line and blood at all. That doesn't mean there are no punishments, just as cruel, that came in to being just for such occasions and... preferences."

I was glad to be sitting. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable." I cut my eyes to the man and he held my glare unflinchingly, which quieted my suspicions. He didn't subscribe to the same barbarism he was describing, at least I didn't think so, so I let my glare die. "I think I understand, then."

"I know these last few days have been nothing but shock after shock for you. I can see it in your eyes, which is part of why I had hoped to save much of the more distressing things for after studying the texts." His manner was apologetic, and I took it for what it was. "A good grasp of Occlumency is not only a defense, but a benefit to the user. The needed organization to hide one's mind, by necessity lets it be efficient. It become easier to process new experiences, and understand them, without it throwing you into a tailspin, as it were."

That would be welcome, to a degree I doubt Mr. Greengrass would understand. I didn't explain it, but to me, it seemed like the world since discovering Hogwarts and magic was one large drum, beating away with me inside of it. Each beat broke down my sanity a little more, made me all the more open to the frankly frightening world that magic presented.

Yes, magic was amazing. It did things I could never imagine, could never believe in before. That world was also full of utter madness. What kind of people would willingly invent a tournament, that allowed dragons, the potential death of non-participants, and no security, that only involved school children? That would turn a blind eye to years of threats, all deadly and potentially catastrophic, within a school?

I did not want to turn into one of those people.

"So, this rather heavy topic aside, Mr. Potter, will you forgive my daughter her indiscretion?"

Deciding to lighten the mood a bit, I recalled the earlier topic of indiscretions. I assumed a thoughtful pose. "Possibly. Do you by chance have that ritual your friend used, handy?"

Mr. Greengrass blanched white and I couldn't help but laugh. "No harm, sir, no foul. I'll see you tomorrow." As I rose to make my way to the more secure areas, I vaguely heard him laugh nervously. Far enough away not to be heard, I chuckled again. Daphne would no doubt hear about that one – and though I don't think she would be adverse, at some point, to having children when she married, no doubt the threat of twins, or worse, would keep her from blithely letting such things go again.

Recalling Fred and George, and how Mrs. Weasley seemed at her wits end about them almost constantly, I had to admit there were quite a few fates worse than death. Quite a few more pleasant too.

–

Three days into our studies, and Daphne had her first rant. I had been expecting it, though had no idea on its nature, for some time.

"Potter, how the hell did you manage to pass at all up to this point?" Taken somewhat aback, I simply stared at her, which was obviously not the correct answer. "Seriously. Your work ethic is abysmal, your essay skills are below atrocious, and to be honest, you don't really seem to care about the material."

No one likes being ranted at. Years of Hermione riding along and beating me about the ears with her own variety did nothing to inoculate me to another's attempts. "Now you wait just a minute. I'm just as far along in this as you are-"

"Because you're holding me back!" the girl shrieked, setting me back in my chair with her volume. "We can't progress till we are caught up. I've had meditation and thought-clearing down since day one. I've been singularly working on my organization method, since day two. I've been working with you, so you'd catch up – not because I was 'just as far along'. Are you really this dense?"

I was stunned. She was already doing work that was presented in the middle of the text. With some dawning horror, I replaced Hermione's image in my mind with Daphne's, and saw a similarity that frankly, scared me witless. Regardless, the raven-haired harpy wanted an answer, and if I didn't provide one soon, she would likely start cursing till one was had. Rather than present my case, I simply asked, "How? How are you already so far along?"

Daphne made a disgusted sound and crossed her arms, falling back into the desk she'd claimed. "Disciplne, perhaps? We need to have a rudimentary understanding and practical beginning for this before the end of two weeks at least. Do you enjoy living in these caves?"

"No, of course not," I answer automatically, before I start to understand what she means. "So two weeks was the limit-"

"Not the bloody goal, you mental midget," she snapped out in reply. "And I can't leave, till you can leave. Just because we're given a time frame to work in, doesn't mean we need to just squeak in under it."

What she was saying made sense, well other than the mental midget part. "But why would they not say so in the beginning?"

Daphne threw up her hands and let her forehead fall with a thump against her text. "Maybe because they didn't expect you to be such a layabout with your studies?" She ignored the pointed glare I shot her way, mostly because she was immune, her face being planted firmly in her book. "Really, I tried to explain, but they'd not listen."

Explain? "What do you mean?"

"Oh please, don't even jest," she sniped back, raising her head to glare at me. I returned it with some heat. "Fine, you want to play like that? Answer me this: Who made you work? Who revised all your essays? Who was it that was your minder, up to this point? Was it you? Did you _ever_ take that initiative?"

I began to shoot back that it was, till my reply died on my lips. Mostly because it would have been a bold-faced lie. It wasn't my idea, and never was. Sure, I was happy to do the practicals in the classes themselves, but everything else was so much rubbish, it seemed. Why did I need perfect form, when the spell worked? Why, furthermore, did I need to write an essay about such a thing? The spell cast fine – end of discussion.

Or... was it? My stricken expression wasn't lost on Daphne, who sat back and simply waited for me to ride out this personal storm. She of course knew who it was that made sure I, and Ron for that matter, got our classwork done and done in such a way as to not be an embarrassment. That she said so often enough caused me to flinch, driving the point home. "Right," Daphne broke in, pulling me from my recriminations. "Granger, that insufferable little loudmouth-"

"Hey, now that's uncalled for!"

"Is it?" Daphne asked icily. "For a girl who's year ranking is fifth, one would think she had a personal ownership of the concept of knowledge, with how she speaks to everyone around her."

It's really not a secret; I don't like people putting down my friends. Standing up to pace in my irritation, I occasionally shoot the blue-eyed Slytherin dark looks. "She is bright. You can't deny that."

"So is Tracey Davis," the girl drawled in reply. "In fact, if we go by scores, she's brighter than your little mudblood. You don't see her crowing to every open ear about it, however."

The argument after the word 'mudblood' doesn't really register till a bit later, however. "Don't you use that word around me, Greengrass."

Daphne's eyes narrow to slits. "Let me inform you of a little thing that perhaps your lack of cognition has left you ignorant of, Potter," she bites out, practically spitting my name. "The reason most of the school sneers at your bossy bint of a friend, is because she's the epitome of why we hate muggleborns to begin with."

"Just because she's bright and a brilliant witch doesn't-"

"Will you shut up a moment and listen, you thick-headed moron?" Daphne screeched, making me wince. Pursing my lips I sat, fully intending on ignoring her, but listening regardless. I'm sure this won't be any different than Malfoy's idiocy, just with bigger, more colorfully insulting words. Waving as if to give permission, I sneer and in my best Snape impression, bid her to continue.

She practically vibrates with anger for a moment, before calming visibly. "What do you think the average pureblood comes to Hogwarts knowing?" I'm fairly sure it's a rhetorical question, so I only shrug. "On average, up to second or third year, as far as understanding and theory. Most children learn from their parents, at least that much, by association."

That set me back in my seat somewhat. Partly because it never occurred to me, despite how casually every adult I've seen seems to use it, but also because I just never thought of something so obvious. Not missing a beat, however, Daphne continued, "Do you really think a muggleborn with no knowledge of magic could be more versed in it than an entire generation that grew up in the same?" She sneered nastily and went on, "The professors feed her ego so the other muggleborn and raised will see her as an example. They need those students not to leave the wizarding world, you see, and so make exception to her self-aggrandizing posturing."

To say I'm a little shocked is understatement. "So, all that... is calculated?"

"Not all, she is quite intelligent," Daphne admitted with a shrug. "She is not, however, the next coming of Merlin – or Morgana as the case may be. No, what we have issue with isn't her intellect, but her attitude.

"Imagine, Potter, taking a summer course on French. Now, you go and attend say, Beauxbatons in France." I begin to see where this is going, and look down at my hands, pensive. "Now, while you, barely aware and capable of speaking the language yet with a good understanding of it, go about your day, you comment on your wonderful grasp of the tongue to every native speaker you meet. Not wanting to dissuade you, the professors and staff compliment you on your skill." Daphne tapped her nails on her desk, one brow raised at my chagrined expression. "This isn't your fault. You're not more aware of our culture, in truth, than she or any other muggleborn or raised is."

It really pains me to think such a thing, but I finally start understanding quite a lot of the insults thrown Hermione's way, at this point. Using Daphne's reference, I wince, realizing that in truth my friend really has made being a living insult to wizarding culture a sort of active hobby. Daphne, however, isn't finished, "What you don't realize, is that our way of life is the way it is, because of how long we live. Our leaders grow old slower, are replaced less frequently, and go on making and enforcing decisions for more of their lives. Lives that frequently are rooted in experiences from a century back. Dumbledore, who heads the current school and is the Chief Warlock of our governing body, the Wizengamot, not to mention Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, was born in the eighteen hundreds," taking a breath, she rested a hand against her temple, rubbing it idly. "People younger would still be working off morals and ideals their parents taught them, and so on. I'm sure as intelligent as she is, Granger thinks that we're all a lot of barbaric bumpkins who can barely fathom wheels and fire, but to us, she just represents the eventual loss of our culture."

"Loss of your culture," I parrot, my mind a blank. Daphne's sad nod tells me I heard correctly – I didn't doubt, but it was good to know – and the gravity of what that meant crept over me. "Wizards separated themselves to protect them from persecution, right?" My companion nodded, so I kept on, thinking my way through this out loud, "So, of course things from the muggle side of the world give wizards a bit of pause. Sure, making electricity work in Hogwarts would be interesting, but it would destroy the authenticity of it. The culture of it."

Daphne stood and came to my side, laying a hand on my arm. My flinch was more involuntary and ingrained than anything, and I'm happy she persisted. "It would. I'm sure we'd be happy to have a place to study such things – but not at the cost of losing what we are. Wizarding kind will balk at change, but not at new things. It's the approach that matters."

I think I get it. "So, say an outlying building where magic and technology were allowed to work together?"

"Perfectly fine," Daphne noted, watching my eyes.

"Running electric lights through the great hall?"

I grinned as she winced in an exaggerated fashion. "Riots in the streets," she replied with a grin then, knowing I was just pushing such an extreme as a lark. "But, we've wandered. Granger is not a bad person. She just neatly defines herself in such a way, that the traditionalists and those who grew up happily in the wizarding world find her offensive. Mudblood isn't always an insult on one's heritage, so much as one's pride in what they are, and how they appear to people like me." With a sigh, she leaned back on her heels, "There's also the fact that muggleborn and raised make up nearly eighty percent of those that invoke Statute violations." I boggle at that, and she shrugs. "Can you see Granger really putting aside magic for her whole life, or for that matter, living in such a traditionalist world? We need her, as a culture, because otherwise we stagnate, but cannot abide her at the same time. She'll be on the fringe, and as such, be interacting with both sides. Hence, Statute violations."

The matter-of-fact way Daphne presented that made it clear that such a thing had happened in the past, and was a well known situation. That on its own settled nastily with me, but there was something else there that sat uncomfortably with me. Something had started bothering me during this, and it finally registered. "All this time, you've been talking about culture, the wizarding world like it was something I wasn't a part of." She looked away, but shrugged with slight bob of her head. "So, that means I guess most of your... er. Clique?" I try the word out and she just makes a noncommittal affirmative noise, so I go on, "I guess your clique just sees me as muggle raised, then."

Daphne shakes her head, a worried cast to her features. This got my attention. What was she concerned over? "No, not really. But, look, I can't talk about that, at least not yet."

"Why not?"

She winced, and wouldn't meet my eyes. "I'm not allowed."

Not the answer I was expecting. "What? Who won't-"

"Look, please," and I gape a bit, as this is the first time I've heard that word come out of her mouth, and it looks like it didn't taste very good doing so, from her expression. "I can't go into this. Can we let it go, for now?"

Not at all happy about it, I nod. "Sure. I guess we went a bit afield there, anyway."

"No kidding," Daphne replied, slumping slightly in her desk again. "And all this was spurred on because you're a lazy slacker."

"Hey!"

She laughed, quietly, tiredly. I can tell this took a lot out of her, and to be honest, I feel a little drained mentally as well. It's been a lot to take in. "Seriously, though. We know Granger is why you keep up your studies, she's the first to harp about it when you're not about."

I blink at that. "Seriously?"

Daphne nods, a slight smirk on her lips, "Yeah, she's proud to be the reason you're not being held back."

I would argue the point, but there's no lie behind it. Hermione really is the reason why I do as well as I have in classes – in so much as the written and studying aspects. Practical work is still my best point, but Daphne's rant has given me something to think about. Quite a lot, actually. "So, I take it this won't be the only thing I get lessons in this summer?" I ask, holding up the copy of _Mind Your Mind_ on my desk.

Daphne shrugs, leaning back and looking thoughtful. "I'd hope not. But at this rate, if what I expect my father to be doing is correct, you won't be done if it was all you did from now till graduation."

"Oh," I mumble, feeling myself pale at that. "That much? What could he possibly be wanting to teach me?"

With a slight smile, she shook her head. "Not my place to say. But I know this – you need to find your own motivation. We touched on it a bit in the car here, but I don't think you really understand how important this is."

Oh, on the contrary, I did. During the Tri-Wizard, it really hit home that I was in a life-or-death situation, and you'd be amazed how well that works to motivate a person. Now, with Voldemort back and active, personally calling on his Death Eaters to take up the fight again... yeah. She's right. I have been lazy.

Most of my real attention at Hogwarts has been on Quidditch. Admittedly, I'm a guy, and my dorm-mates aren't in Ravenclaw. Studying isn't what we go on into the night about. We talk about this team on that play, or about which players we'd want, all on a team, if we could pull it off. More than one assignment went on to be hastily scribbled out, then corrected by an irate Hermione, just so I could get in a good afternoon's reading of _Quidditch Weekly_, before I passed out for the night.

You'd think I would have gotten a clue at the end of my first year. No, it took a family of Slytherins – I think – abducting me and beating some sense into my head to really see where I've been letting myself down. And if what I've been thinking late at night while sleep evades me is right... everyone else too. "Right," I declared, startling Daphne who had been back to reading. "I need a favor."

A corner of her lip quirked at that. "Oh?"

"I need to learn how to learn."

–


	5. Chapter 4

**Snakecharmer**

Chapter 4

Ups and Downs

–

It was a damned bit easier a thing to decide, than to do, which became obvious. Daphne and I spent the rest of that day going over the text, her pointing out the things I should be focusing on, why, and how that structure persisted in most books in our classes, once you understood it.

In essence, she showed me how to skim and grasp the pertinent potions of the text, without having to bore myself into a coma, reading every last word.

By the end of the week, I was picking it up faster, but was still behind my Slytherin counterpart. I didn't mind this so much, as we worked together from that day forward, and I was happy to do so. My grasp of the practical helped her to understand the ideas that the book presented as possible uses – unelaborated within – for much of the techniques, and my muggle upbringing let me put it in perspectives that were unusual for her, and gave us better exercises to practice with.

We were also quite a bit ahead of where I expected to finish, by that point as well. This pleased me greatly, to my surprise, as I saw we had an other full week to go, and how much better we could become. This caused me to pause, and laugh, and continue to do so till I got punted in the shoulder as I rolled across the cold stone floor from an irate girl.

When I'd calmed down, I explained to her what was so funny. In essence, I told her that she was turning me into Hermione.

I stopped laughing when she gave me a fair mimicry of my friend's hair to deal with for the rest of that day. How the devil she manages not to go insane with this... horror, attached to her head eludes me.

The second week of more intense practical work had us focusing on our inner mindscapes, something we quizzed one another about daily. _Mind Your Mind_ suggested those without a dire need to use something familiar for their initial mindscape, but to be wary, because once one was picked out, it was terribly, almost prohibitively difficult to change later.

"Makes sense," I admitted, sitting back to consider the question. "From what we've learned, this mindscape ideal will be the basis on how we organize our minds from here forward. Changing that once we've settled on one is like saying, 'alright, now only speak in Russian!' to someone just learning it."

Daphne quoted a passage on the dangers of such a thing, "'Common problems associated with altering one's own mindscape without a master's understanding of both Legillimency and Occlumency include but are not limited to; dementia, memory loss, personality fragmentation, loss of magical control, bad breath, bedhead, acne...' ok, I think from there on they're just throwing things in to make it sound worse. Not that they need to."

"Indeed," I chuckle, shaking my head. "So, I suppose this is one of those life-changing, important decisions that you can't undo."

Stretching and wincing when her own back creaked, Daphne nodded, "Suppose so, Potter."

We lapsed into quiet thought before pretty much perking up at the same time. "Can't be something anyone would expect of us."

"Right," I agreed. "I'd considered the Gryffindor common room, or a library, but both would be too easy to break into." Daphne winced, blushing slightly. I grinned, "Same thing, different theme?" I inquired.

Her tentative nod was my reply. "We need something unexpected. Unusual."

"Obscure."

We grinned, eerily in unison. "Muggle," we both murmured, me with happiness that I was actually being a decent student, Daphne I can only guess due to the trauma such a thing would cause some poor sod looking into her mind.

Sitting back and considering it, I snapped my fingers. "Maybe, we could use some fiction? Or a movie?"

"It doesn't need to be exact, just a framework. How we do so, only needs to make sense to us," Daphne mumbled, thinking out loud.

"Lets get your dad," I opined. "We know enough about Occluding to get by – I think – and we need material. A trip to London would be great for research."

Daphne smirked, but was nodding. "Plus, we're both getting stir crazy."

"Barking," I agreed. "Lets see if we can get a break."

–

As it turned out, we certainly could.

Daphne's father poked and prodded at our rudimentary defenses with his, admittedly, poor Legillimency before giving us both radiant smiles. "I am quite proud of you two. Going to the effort of getting ahead in your studies, and even being up to forming your defenses."

Beside me, Daphne demurred a small thank you, but from the angle I was at, I could see her shooting me a triumphant smirk that her father missed. Eh, I suppose she deserved it. When Mr. Greengrass turned his smile to me, I just pointed at his daughter, "I blame her, Mr. Greengrass. She's been a wonderful partner, and managed to keep me focused."

The look of shock on Daphne's face was well worth the cost of swallowing a little pride.

This just made her father's smile a bit larger. "Indeed? Well, good, good. Shouldn't you two be off?"

Perhaps I shouldn't have been quite so surprised that Daphne could drive. It certainly would have been easier on the ears. "No, I wasn't asking because I didn't think you as a girl shouldn't know, just as a witch!"

That calmed her down for a bit, till we managed to get back onto the main highway. "I know most purebloods would sneer at one of their counterparts using something so muggle. To be honest, I grew up with cars and electricity and such things."

"Is that why you and your little group of oddball Slytherins don't mingle with the others so much?"

Daphne's eyes flashed dangerously, and I knew I'd stuck my foot in my mouth again. "You have an amazing talent for being dense, you know that?"

I just rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the road and scenery as it passed by. I'd never spent much time on the road or traveling, so it was still somewhat new and interesting. Plus, we seemed to be out and away from a lot of the hustle and bustle of London and its suburbs. Lots of empty space, fields of tall grass and what crops seemed to be still standing. I had no idea where I was, I realized, but it didn't bother me so much. If I didn't know, likely no one else would either.

"Did you really want to know, or were you just being cross?"

Her question got my attention back, and I considered it for a moment rather than just say something immediately. "I would like to know. You and a few of the others seem to get along with just about anyone, I mean you paired with Neville in potions-"

"The Longbottom family has been allied with our own for a long time. I grew up with Neville, till his gran decided that he needed to work with tutors to get up to pace," Daphne interrupted somewhat coldly.

Bringing it to mind, I never recalled a moment where Neville had ever indulged in a bit of Slytherin bashing. Most people who in our House that noted his seating with Daphne, figured it was either a safety precaution Snape had insisted on to save the cauldron budget from going into the red, or that he'd paid the girl for tutoring and to help shield him from the irritable professor. I never bothered to ask, because it was Neville, and if you backed the poor guy into a corner he'd turn into a mumbling mess.

Despite it, I wasn't insisting anything bad about the guy. He managed pretty well, even if his wanded subjects were a bit stubborn. "Hey, I wasn't insinuating anything," I replied, seeing Daphne relax a bit. "Neville's a good guy. Little skittish at times, but all around alright."

Daphne snorted, "He's a bit henpecked by his grandmother. Right unpleasant old bat, but quite influential and powerful in her own right. I suppose she leans on him a little harder, because he resembles his mother."

My eyes narrow somewhat, recalling Petunia. "Why would that matter?"

"I think she blames Alice – Neville's mum – for her and his dad ending up in St. Mungo's." While I'm trying to process this, Daphne waves her prior words off, "I've said too much, shouldn't be going on about them. You should talk to Neville. He's a good person, doesn't have a lot of friends, but your family and his have a history."

I made a note to do so – after all, he was a Lion, no reason not to look him up. "Right. So, you were going to tell me about the oddballs?"

"Do stop calling us that," Daphne huffed, shooting me a glare for a moment before turning her attention back to the road. "The three of us, Tracey, Blaise and I are the children of neutral families, that happen to be in Slytherin. There are others with the 'Claws and 'Puffs, but we're pretty much it, for Snakes."

My mind grinds to a halt at that. "Only you three...?"

Daphne seems to know what I was thinking, and shakes her head, "In our year. There are others, but for study groups and such, there's not much reason to work with upper or lower years." I was already cursing my own short-sightedness in thinking those three made up the only non-dark families, when she continued, "We run a study group, and a lot of others are there too, from the other Houses. You'd be surprised how much inter-House work actually goes on, only behind the scenes."

She's right, I would be surprised. Mostly, because in Gryffindor, such a thing would never get off the ground. That brings to light my other question, "Not many Lions there, I'd wager."

"Not particularly. Some of the 'Claws want Granger, but they were vetoed. Someone needs to slap some sense into her first."

I chuckle at that, "So, the rant the other day wasn't quite as random as I thought?"

"Perhaps," she allowed with a grin. "If she looses the attitude, a lot of doors would open, now and later. And if it came from you..."

"...she'd be more likely to listen," I grin and shake my head. Only a Slytherin... "I read you, loud and clear."

"Good. She's got talent, but no social skills. We can help her with that – well, once we get a bit of polish on you as well."

I hold up my hands in surrender, "In my defense, my guardians were pricks."

Daphne hummed and nodded. "Point. Still, I can't believe you were left in the dark about so much of your family history."

I return my attention to the scenery, anger burning a slow simmer through my veins. "Me either. And I plan to find out why."

–

Muggle London was a far cry from Surrey, and it showed on both our faces. "Wow, that's a lot of muggles."

I nodded, sitting a little straighter. "Yeah. Pretty busy."

Daphne fidgeted with the steering wheel, seeming perfectly content to sit in the parking space she'd claimed. "Uhm. What do we do now?"

At any other point in my life, I would have been somewhat flummoxed by her asking me for help. I mean, c'mon. Lions and Snakes. Right now though, we were on a mission, and there wasn't space for such things. Still, it was nice that she asked. "Well, I think we can use a directory, and find someplace close," I mutter, leaning back. "What kind of things did we want to look into?"

The raven-haired witch shrugged, eyes tracking the people who came too close for her comfort. "Anything, really. The goal was something to base our mindscapes on, so something inventive and muggle to throw off wizards would be good."

"Huh. Oh, we don't want to be too obvious, though." She gave me a blank look, so I continued. "Say I picked out a computer," I shoot her a glance, and she nodded. "Alright, so you know what one is. Do you know how to work it?"

Daphne indicated she didn't. "Can't get them to work in the wards. They're too delicate, my dad said. Also, too expensive to experiment on."

I grimace, "He's got a point. Anyway, now one of those would utterly confound a pureblood, most likely. Now, imagine say... Hermione."

Her reaction was to swear and slap the horn, which sent people shooting us irritated looks. Daphne responded with a very firm one-finger salute. "Damn. You've got a point. So was this a waste of time?"

Shaking my head, I consider the problem a moment. "No. I don't think so. But we won't get an easy answer out of this. I don't think we'd be best served by one anyway. Muggles have a lot of entertainment options, since there's so many of them. Libraries bigger than the one at Hogwarts, just for fiction, for instance."

That single declaration left Daphne wide eyed. "That many... we're lucky if F&B gets new editions yearly."

I figure F&B is shorthand for Flourish and Blotts, and nod. "I've noticed. They didn't have much fiction, but then, to a muggle, what we do daily would fill up a book. What can wizard authors imagine that would be as entertaining?"

Never figured Daphne for a bookworm, but that supposedly simple question opened up a floodgate. Apparently, wizarding fiction fell into a few simple categories. Romance, because you just can't seem to dodge it. Muggle-fiction, which told stories about amazing muggles who did things that I really didn't want to let on, had actually happened in some cases (Muggles on the moon! What a riot! ...right Daphne.). The last was pretty expected, that being tall tales of wizards doing wizardly things in wizardly fashion.

Now, I've never been the sort like Hermione, who reads books just because they were there, and so was I. Despite that, I was quite aware of fiction, and the kinds one was likely to find. Blame Dudley's early years, and knowing that the great lout would rather go on a diet than step foot in a library. I picked things up by association. While I was explaining science-fiction, Daphne got a glazed look and was suddenly by my door. Huh, never knew one could apparate due to book-lust. Have to let Hermione know...

A few polite inquiries let us know that a bookstore by the name of Waterstone's was the end-all for what we were looking for, so we got back into the Greengrass' sedan and muddled our way around traffic and bad directions close enough to satisfy Daphne's dislike of London and my dislike of our only way out being too far off.

We made it to London fairly early – as our days started at standard Hogwarts time – so we had plenty of daylight to burn. This was a good thing, as Daphne fell in love with the place. Waterstone's was probably the single most impressive bookstore I'd ever seen. The building looked to be six floors, five of which I think were taken up by the racks. Daphne was hard to get into the actual store – Piccadilly was a rather busy place, and there were a number of interesting shops on the way from where we left the sedan.

When we finally got inside though, I was having flashbacks of Hermione and the Restricted Section. Daphne was initially befuddled by the search system, not knowing some of the terms, but once I'd explained, she was off toward the fantasy section in a flash. I was going to remind her that she was here to look for something new and unusual, but even as dense as I supposedly am, I know better than to stand between a woman and her books.

Figuring I'll catch up to Daphne when she's done, I wander around, mostly looking at the ends of rows, where the sellers were advertising things. It seemed that they picked out easy sells and popular reads for those, and I payed them little attention for the most part. I nearly skipped the horror section out of principal – I have enough scary in my life, thankyouverymuch – but the image at the end-cap got my attention. Like some of the other displays, there were media of sorts accompanying the books. A few video tapes, something new called DVD's, and a few books and posters. It was the backdrop poster that caught my eye.

After seeing Voldemort in all his naked snakey glory, not much I figured could creep me out. However... this guy did a pretty solid job. I shrugged, and picked up a few of the tapes, reading the synopses and the book, _The Hellbound Heart_, to get an idea what the deal was with the gruesome figure.

After five minutes of flipping around in the book, I put it back down and found a window, to get some air. "That guy... needs help," I murmured, shaking off some of the more gory imagery. Still... I took a seat near the wide window and considered the books and the things inside, and referenced what I knew of what we were learning in _Mind Your Mind_. One of the authors of our text mentioned active defenses, which worked kind of like a booby-trap. Someone got past your shield and into your mindscape, and then had to deal with traps, that functioned from the Occlumen's perspective to help organize. The real difficulty was attaching the traps to the mindscape, so they weren't just laying around randomly and easily bypassed. Active defenses had to both be a part of the system, and serve a function. That was what made them effective. Otherwise it was just so much clutter.

I looked back toward the bookstore proper, and sighed. "Well. If it worked on me after all I've seen, maybe it would be worth a shot." And so, _The Hellbound Heart_ began my small collection of material.

Daphne and I crossed paths somewhere around the science fiction area, and we traded ideas. She shared my opinion that an active defense would be a good idea, and that brought up our selections so far. After some thought, Daphne decided to discard anything too obscure, as it had to be something she would understand, otherwise the mindscape would break under strain. That limited her, but with the new material she was finding, she seemed content enough. I caught a glimpse of some of her titles, but she noticed and hid them with a smirk. "No peeking," she chided, to which I rolled my eyes.

After fixating on the active defense idea, nothing else I ran across really seemed to attract my attention, so I wandered the racks looking for recreational material instead. That search went well, and I had a few books from a liberal author who did sci-fi, a pair from an expert on history and mythology, and one guide to fencing and classic sword fighting that caught my eye. Gryffindor's sword may be useful again some day, or another for that matter.

That turned my mind in a more thoughtful direction, and I took out the notebook that I'd began carrying around for when I got ideas, and scratched out page of thoughts. "Wizard duels and fights I've seen up to now have always been about spells. Fought at distance, rather than close up. No physical contact. Something to look into," it read as a header, to which down below I worked out possible uses and questions to look up later.

While I was writing, Daphne had snuck up behind my back and was reading what passed for my handwriting. "Not bad," she murmured by my ear, startling me, causing her to snicker. Once we'd settled in a pair of the comfy, squashy chairs, she continued her thought, "You have a point. Wizards don't really fight with their fists or weapons so much anymore. It's considered uncivilized."

I wrinkled my nose at that. "Yeah, and tossing about Avadas is. Still, I think it's a good point."

"Didn't say it wasn't. We'll ask my father when we get back to The Fields," she already had bags of her purchases, so I made my way downstairs to the registers, and used a little money that I had left to buy my few books. Daphne I noted, had a small library in the making, but was managing it well enough.

Rather than return straight away, we dallied at a local eatery, Cafe Nero, and had coffee and a sandwich. The noise was enough that we could talk normally, which, I'm surprised to admit, was pleasant.

"So what did you pick out?" I looked up from my brief meal and wiped at my hands with a napkin, while Daphne went on, "Or are you going with that first book?"

I nodded, "I'm sticking with the scary one. I figure I've got enough material up here," tapping my temple, I grin, "to make it work."

Daphne shuddered, and pulled out a really large book of riddles. "I'm going to use this, and an idea I got from our text.

"They gave an example of an active defense, that of a dragon on a hoard of gold. Kind of antiquated imagery – dragons only like gold because of the amount of heat it retains, it's shiny, and their body temperatures make it melt into a kind of couch in time – but the idea works. Just going to make it a bit different."

I shook my head, realizing that tidbit nearly doubled my knowledge of dragons, despite having faced one, and nodded toward her remaining books. "And those?"

She ducked her head and blushed slightly, causing me to grin. "Well, we were there so..."

"No worries," I soothed, stretching. "I remember what you said about F&B, so sort of expected a little binging there. Now the real question is... what do we do with the rest of our day?"

We discussed a walking tour, though neither of us were big into sightseeing, a shopping trip which did appeal to both of us, but was out because all our funds had gone into books, and finally just calling it an early day and heading back, taking a more scenic route. Our questions were answered, however, when a bus advertising the Apollo West End theater lumbered by, and I grabbed up Daphne's bags and paid our tab. I asked directions and shortly was dragging a complaining and questioning Daphne by the hand down Piccadilly, and onto Regent street.

Once I explained what I had in mind, our places swapped, and it was me being dragged along by an excited witch.

The Apollo was a theater that followed in Waterstone's footsteps very well. Mainly, in that it was huge. We had a few movies to choose from that were playing shortly after our arrival, and decided to take in an early showing of a sci-fi thriller called "Species". Frankly, I wasn't interested in anything named "Tommy Boy" and Daphne didn't really like the other options.

Sadly, we had a small hangup at the door – age. "What do you mean, we need an adult?"

I tried to explain the rating system, and why, as a line formed up behind us. Daphne decided that a small demonstration in applied magic was needed, and to my horror, pulled her wand and held it underhand, her arms folded. Eyes wide, I watched as she turned and asked me something I was too shocked to answer, but was cut off from inquiring on what, when the attendant handed the young woman our tickets, with a glazed look.

When I looked, I noted she had tucked her wand back away, and was waiting for me by the doors. As I came abreast, I took her elbow and lead her to the side, by a row of posters for the movies. "What the hell was that?"

Daphne blinked at me, her happy expression souring. "Confundus charm. I've known it for ages, since my family works with muggles so much," I thought I caught something about heading off overly amorous Slytherins as well, but decided not to press the point.

Running a hand through my hair nervously, I looked for owls, and got an earful of Daphne laughing at me. "What? Why are you so cheery?"

"They can't track us here, Potter. We're in the middle of downtown London, no where near our homes."

I reached up and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. "Right, forgot. It's not on the wand. Still-"

"Oh, let it go. You've already faced dragons, dementors and dark lords, and I'm too smart to need some chaperone just to watch a film. Now, get me some popcorn, and I'll meet you by the entrance to our venue."

I suppose I earned popcorn duty, considering. Still, what she said was food for thought. After all that's happened to me, the last thing I really wanted anymore was someone like Molly Weasley trying to smother me with their good intentions. If that kind of person had their say, I'd probably be banishing and summoning pillows, brewing cheering draughts, and transfiguring pin cushions till I was twenty. No, thank you.

I got Daphne a Coke to go with her popcorn, just because. It had nothing to do with getting me on that train of thought. Really.

Besides, Daphne had a very pretty smile for me when she saw it.

Seating was good – nothing too crowded – and we had a tiny argument over which row. Daphne liked the idea of the front row, but I wasn't huge on coming out with a sore neck, so we compromised and got a pair in the fifth row.

We stared at the actual seats for a moment, before looking to one another and nodding. Regardless of how good our day was going, those seats were just a bit too close for comfort, so we put an empty one between us. This worked fine until the third time Daphne asked me about something in the movie she didn't understand, and I took that empty seat.

"Potter, what are you doing?"

"Shh. We'll get thrown out if you keep asking things so loud." Her expression darkened, and I amended, "I don't mind the questions, there are just rules about noise. Just whisper." Daphne grumbled but we sorted ourselves out, so we didn't have to rub elbows. How the hell do people manage these seats on a full house?

We had some classically embarrassing moments, particularly involving mislaid hands depending on who was holding the popcorn, but we kept our cool. Mostly. I'm sure I was a relatively fair image of a tomato, and if Daphne's expression and breathing were to be taken into account, she wasn't much better.

About halfway through the film, Daphne began to realize why precisely we ran into the age issue. "Oh... my."

My eyes must be nearly the size of my glasses, I figured. "Y-yeah."

The somewhat strained silence didn't break till we were halfway back to The Fields, our books strewn across the back seat and our windows down, whipping hair and clothes around. "That was an... interesting film."

I looked to Daphne, noting her light blush and chuckled. "Yeah, I had no idea. Maybe next time we should ask about what we're getting into."

The Slytherin girl turned to look at me, an inscrutable expression on her face. "Next time?"

"Sure, I mean other than being a bit embarrassing, it was still fun. Don't you think?"

When I looked again, she'd turned her attention back to the road. I may have imagined it, but I think she had the ghost of a smile about her, "Yeah. It was."

It wasn't until dinner, and after Daphne had excused herself from the table to start on one of her books that Mr. Greengrass clued me in to why our conversation – Daphne and myself – had grown so stilted. "So, how was your date?"

"Oh. Oh bloody, buggering hell," There are some days you just can't express yourself politely.

–

I was rather glad to be in a real room again, though I wasn't surprised to find our 'classes' weren't over, and that they'd continue to be down in the dungeons. Before I finally fell asleep, I had given some thought to the previous day, and decided that it wasn't so bad.

Daphne could have a pretty sharp wit about her sometimes, but she always had a reason. She came off cold, but there was a real person underneath, if you managed to break through the ice. I've seen hints, but so far she's not thawed around me. Not that I expect her to.

One thing has stood out through all the studying we've done together and the time I'd spent in the Greengrass' home, and though it bothers me a little, I can definitely understand her viewpoint. To me, it was clear that Daphne didn't believe in whatever plan her father had. She was going along with it, of course, but wasn't 'on board' as Vernon would say.

This had confused me early on, when the healer debacle occurred, but after Mr. Greengrass explained things, it fit neatly into what I was considering to be the real Daphne. The real Daphne has opinions that would send most of Gryffindor scrambling for beater's bats. She's arrogant, definitely the idea of a 'pureblood princess', and takes full advantage of her witch's nature when dealing with muggles. Daphne was quintessentially Slytherin, but did it in a way that didn't outright offend.

I'd been thinking this, while brushing my teeth. It gave me a good chance to observe myself, and what I saw irritated me. "Stop thinking about the princess," I ordered my mirror's image. "Nothing good can come of that."

After all, I'm Harry Potter. The solitary Lion in a den of Snakes. It wouldn't be smart to forget that, regardless of what's going on.

I stumbled down to breakfast, and looked around the table. Astoria's picking at her eggs (normal), Mr. Greengrass is scowling at his newspaper, making notes on a nearby pad (also normal), and Mrs. Greengrass is looking at me with a raised brow, glancing to the chair I should have sat in by now (normal, yet again).

Daphne wasn't there. Awkward.

Shaking my head to clear it, I slumped into the chair, and got a few words from her mother, to adjust my posture, and pick my chin up. This wasn't unusual – she's been subtly trying to get me at least nominally trained to deal with polite company over the last two weeks. Considering the situation, and that it goes ignored by the table in general, I didn't mind. If Astoria or Daphne had laughed, I may have called it quits the first time, but thankfully, that wasn't the case.

Half an hour later, Mr. Greengrass asked if I'm alright. Apparently I'd been picking at my breakfast and not eating for a while. Shit. This was irritating, why couldn't she just be at breakfast and ignore me like usual? Now I was wondering what the hell was going on, and my head was running away with me.

With an obviously fake grin I excused myself and once I was around the corner, dashed for the basement. Once I'd hit the cold stone floors, I calmed down and could catch my breath a bit easier. Man, what was up with me today?

I finally get to the classrooms, to find a calm, meditating Daphne sitting with a notebook and piece of paper before her. The door closing seems to have gotten her attention, and she scowled a bit, before opening her eyes and seeing me there. "Oh, morning," she mumbled, scratching a few things down on her notepad, before going back to her meditation.

I breathed a sigh and relaxed. Business as usual.

–

We were given a week more to work on our mindscapes, and it was a week I could have happily done without.

True, we needed time to get the complexities and the beginnings of those things down, so that later we could build on those foundations and truly assemble our deeper defenses, but...

"What do you mean, I have to give up Quidditch?"

Mr. Greengrass regarded us both levelly, though Daphne continued taking notes from her text. "Just as I said, Mr. Potter. It of course won't be permanent, but I think once you understand why..."

I don't think I'm an impatient person. Not really. Four years have gone by, and I've yet to lose control over the fact that someone's tried to kill me each time I step food in Hogwarts. I've been patient, waiting for someone to clue me in, but even my limits are finite.

I don't love Quidditch. No, don't call the _Prophet_, just hang on. I like the game fine, it's fun, the people I play with for my House are great, and I'm happy they've let me be on the team as long as they have. Quidditch is really the first place I felt wanted, and that means something. Not only that, but I really love flying. I'm free up there, something I bet everyone who plays can relate to. Add it all together, and you get my 'love' for the game.

There are no other broom sports or activities at the school. Outside of Quidditch, they're locked up in the shed, until games or practices. I don't even know if there's a program or allowance for casual fliers, but considering how many restrictions I seem to just collect by breathing, it's not a bet I'd take.

So, all things considered, I'm not taking Mr. Greengrass' decision that I shouldn't be playing very well. "Frankly sir, I don't think this is something I'm willing to discuss."

And now I have everyone's undivided attention. "Potter, I really think you should hear my father out."

"Indeed, so far we're butting heads on principal alone," the man in question stated. He could have called the sky blue at that moment however, and I would have disagreed out of spite, I think. "Hear me out, at least.

"The reason I suggest you forgo Quidditch this coming year, has much to do with what you'll be learning, and the reason why." Oh. He's talking about training time. I leaned back with a sigh. He's not playing fair, bringing Voldemort into this.

I waved him on and stopped running vicious circles in my head. "Go on."

Having realized this wouldn't be an easy battle (Hah!), the older man took a seat on the floor near the painting. "I know I haven't gone into detail about our plans. Much of that was due to risk. If somehow, you were lost before we began and had no way to protect your mind, then the implications to us would have been damning."

He's wasn't saying anything I don't know. Logic and what hints have been dropped told me this some time ago. "As you can guess, the next lessons we will have involve not only the titles and responsibilities I mentioned before, but also instruction on more complicated and detailed ways to use what you will learn. Politics," Mr. Greengrass nodded at my look of distaste. "In addition, of course, there will also be lessons in magic theory and practice, to prepare you for your other role."

Now he has my attention. If he was going to assume I'd put away Quidditch just for political posturing and the ins and outs of being some kind of titled land owner, he had another thing coming. Putting it in context of preparing me to deal with Tommy boy, well that seemed a fair trade. The question is then, how he planned for me to be tutored, while attending Hogwarts, because otherwise I didn't see why the question of Quidditch had even occurred.

Greengrass smirked slightly, straightening. "Your tutor, and if you have one, will depend on how well you do this summer, and how well our plans come together. This coming Monday, we will explore your family, and also speak with someone close to you, and historically the Potters, who will help you to understand the gravity of what is going on."

It's not a straight answer, but I got the feeling it's the best I was going to get. "Who is it? I don't know of anyone who'd be willing... to..." No way. He can't mean...

"Sirius Black, Mr. Potter," the older man stated calmly. Behind me, I hear Daphne's quill scratching down her paper in surprise. The sound reminds me of dementors circling, of hippogriff wings beating.

I stood up, shaking my head. "Don't mess with me, like this."

"I'm not, Mr. Potter. I told you when we met, I wanted to see your potential," Mr. Greengrass stood as well, opposite me. "I will need him as well."

I was fairly shaking, when he stopped talking. "Do you understand what it will mean? If someone finds him? I just got him back, Greengrass – I don't care what your goals are. My godfather _will not be harmed_."

He didn't stay to argue the point. Simply nodded and went on his way. After catching my breath, I noted the ozone stink in the air, and that all the loose material in the room had shifted around.

Daphne was looking at me, in much the way the healer had that day not so long ago.

I called it an early day, and went to sleep. Nevermind that it was eleven A.M.

–


	6. Chapter 5

**Snakecharmer**

Chapter 5

State of the Estate

–

Initial A/N: There's some imaginary and story-specific laws in place here, as I don't really feel that up to researching every last detail for utter correctness. This is fiction, and I'm not getting paid to look over law to write it. That said, there are some 'dry' points, where Harry deals with a solicitor. Who is not a goblin. Gasp. Also a little exposition on Harry's state of mind early on. I'm not thrilled with it, but then, there are parts throughout the story that I know I'll either like or dislike at times.

I will openly admit there is a TL:DR worthy section in this chapter. If you want to skip the solicitor's rambling, once you see it, skip to the next area break, and read back two paragraphs. It won't hurt my feelings, but you may miss some details. Remember - this is a political story. This shit will crop up now and then.

–

For two days I took my meals in the dungeons and avoided my hosts, delivered by a grouchy Gally. I neither saw, nor heard any of the Greengrass family for those days. I wasn't locked in, but there was a... sense of comfort, to those safe places. Solid walls, knowing that the place was warded, and that I could hear anyone coming from some distance.

Two days is a long time to think, when it's all you can do, all you have to do. Despite the fact I didn't believe I was in the wrong with how I reacted to Mr. Greengrass' idea, it still nagged at me. It was clear they were avoiding me, in the same way I was them. Were they doing so because of what I decided, or how I reacted?

There was also Daphne, or rather, my new awareness of Daphne.

I don't hate often. It's never served me well, and always seems to only really complicated things in the long run, but right now, I hate that word.

_Date._

Greengrass could not have done a better job complicating things. I would have laughed it off and dismissed the whole thing as a joke on the man's part, but the problem is, he simply doesn't joke. Oh, I'm sure he does – to other people – but unless I'm completely off base, fathers don't joke about such things with guests idly.

Especially guests who are practically under house arrest.

The worst part of it all, is that after that day, she went back to her usual, cool, aloof, occasionally antagonistic self. Frankly, I wish her father had dropped that on us both, rather than just me. I'm not happy about being the only one who's gotten their preconceptions scrambled by an offhand comment.

So, for two days I worked on my mindscape alone, and when I could spare the time, replayed _that day_ in my head, wondering if I missed something. What irritates me is that I can't shake the feeling I am. I know I'm not the sharpest tack, and frankly, one of my biggest blind spots happened to be girls. Reference Cho. Parvati.

What worries me is that I'm not sure what I'm missing is really Daphne. There's something else going on, something else that just doesn't add up. It made me wonder how much of what Greengrass said was just the man trying to rib me, and how much was my own mistaken expectation rushing forward at such an idea. We were just shopping, regardless of what Greengrass thought of things, and what my own ridiculous teenage notions tried to paint it as.

I mean, it's certainly not as if I know how these things are supposed to work.

But, much like Hermione and her dress at the Yule ball, that one damned word completely changed my view of Daphne. Before Greengrass had said anything, the idea had never slipped into my mind – sure, we went to London, had lunch, and saw a movie. Supposedly people did this all the time, without getting bent out of shape. The most remarkable thing countering that was the mislaid hands during the movie. Unintentional, and neither of us really made a big deal of it. Frankly, I'd forgotten it until later when my traitorous mind refused to simply _shut up_.

So, now I've had to not only deal with Mr. Greengrass' ludicrous idea that we should somehow involve my godfather, at his peril, but also the sudden awareness that his daughter is a rather attractive young woman.

Fucking wonderful. Like I don't have enough to deal with.

Sure, she always has been rather pretty. So was Lavender. So was... that girl in Hufflepuff, who seemed to need a new bra every third month last year. It wasn't as if she suddenly changed overnight. The Daphne Greengrass I'd come to be familiar with was tall, though not so tall as to be awkward about it. Likely I'd pass her this summer, if I kept up a good diet. She had ice-blue, glacially cold eyes that were as closed and guarded as any vault. Dark hair, black as my own, was as often pulled back as loose, but regardless reached to her shoulder blades. Her posture finished what her eyes began, giving her a distant and aloof feeling. She stood tall, chin up, eyes clear, and face closed of emotion till she allowed it. Sharp features that weren't pinched, but gave her a definite air of beauty.

She was pretty in the way statues were. You didn't linger on it, or try to chat one up, because you'd look like an idiot. People who chatted up Daphne, or stared, ended up looking like idiots. She would either cut you down verbally so harshly as to make even Prefects wary, or just laugh at you with that cold, slow, lingering chuckle that made you feel three inches tall.

For two days, I sat and stewed over this new awareness, alternating between blistering irritation, and confused annoyance until finally I'd grown rather fed up with it, and decided to move forward with my Occlumency mindscape. It was either that, or find a way to borrow Lockhart for a day and do some selective lobotomizing. The sooner I compartmentalized this and got it out of the forefront of my mind, the better. With the source materials I'd picked up, it wasn't hard to construct the first layer of defenses. It was the second layer, after all, that would cost me sleep...

Day three came, and again that morning arrived with a lack of the Greengrasses. It was at this point I started feeling afraid. What did I know about these people, really? I certainly didn't trust them, despite the appearance of just that. What assurance did I have, that they worked in my best interest? I knew some of those answers, and why I shouldn't be so wary, but my building anxiety killed what focus I had and so I put away studying, in favor of indulging my paranoia.

The long version of that consisted of me shrinking and as discreetly as possible, stowing my things on my person. I must have looked the fool, tip-toeing around The Fields, spying around corners like some wannabe James Bond. I was planning my exit, if things continued as they were. I didn't, and had never discarded the idea that if things didn't go his way, Greengrass would sell me for security to Voldemort. I didn't bring that up in my arguments and talks with Daphne, mainly as I wanted to keep things more or less peaceful between us – well as peaceful as two people who vent their irritations with random curses can be.

I was also coming to the rather unpleasant realization that I was far from in control of things, which did nothing to ease my mind. I talked a hard game recently, as the sudden isolation from anyone named Greengrass was proving, but in the end, it gained me nothing. Maybe I was coming at things the wrong way. Then again, planning was never my strong suit.

This was made readily clear, when on one of my trips outside "for some air" in case someone asked, Mr. Greengrass joined me. "Lovely afternoon," he said by way of a greeting, to which I nodded nervously. I also stopped trying to feel out the wards, and if they'd zap me like a bug if I didn't cross them with someone with family blood at my side. "With your training as far along as it is," he began, voice cheerful in a frighteningly empty way, "I think it time we moved on to the next step."

Stopping my pacing, I settled on a nearby stone bench, near a tacky birdbath. "Oh?" I was curious about his less-than-friendly demeanor, but honestly couldn't fault the man. If Sirius was as vital to his plans as he had suggested, I had recently ordered an unconditional full stop. He also didn't seem to be upset with me... which frankly confused me. He seemed to be carrying around this air of irritation that lurked just out of sight.

If possible, the man's smile grew frostier, as if reading my thoughts. "Indeed. Perhaps it would help you understand what you're walking into, if you were able to see what all this is working toward."

I had honestly wondered when we'd get into this part of things, but the momentum of working on my Occlumency had dulled that curiosity somewhat. "That would probably be a good thing. So, no lessons in politics, then?"

Greengrass settled himself on the bench as well, picking the further side, "No, not yet. And lessons is a bad word for it, but it will do. Before we move in that direction, Mr. Potter, I was wondering if you could explain something to me." Though his tone hadn't warmed at all, his interest did seem keener. Seeing my wary nod, he continued, "You left your home with us rather easily. We expected some difficulty in... attaining your cooperation."

"'We don't mean you any harm', indeed? Alright, I'll make you a deal."

"Oh?"

"A question for a question."

A raising of the man's brow showed his surprise at my offer. "Hmm. I'm not sure if I can answer everything you'd ask, yet. If I cannot, I will tell you when I can. Will that suit?"

Not the best solution, but it may get some of answers I've wanted for a while now. "Alright. I'll go with it for now"

Greengrass nodded amicably, apparently understanding my mild frustration. "Now, to answer your perhaps joking question earlier, about meaning you harm. We didn't. When we came in. My wife and I were prepared to take you by force, but you'll find that meaning you harm, and meaning to help you, if for our own benefit and against your will, are wholly separate ideals."

I snorted in amusement. "No wonder that ward was useless. So essentially, if Voldemort had wandered by, with an offer to recruit me peacefully in hand, he could have likely waltzed through them."

"And then killed you when you refused, after passing them," Greengrass finished, nodding. "Quite possibly, but we'll never know for sure. I'm sure you've come to a similar conclusion as we have." I waited for him to explain, raising a brow. "Your protection was more through obscurity, than magic."

Scoffing quietly, I nodded. "No one would expect the Boy Who Lived, to be the 'deranged' relative of the Dursleys, attending St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."

Mr. Greengrass stared at me quite blankly for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Yes. Quite. Wards protect and bar certain things. They cannot be as broad as you assumed, or were told however. That is simply impossible. The number that actually keep someone or something out are much lower than those that work as triggers or alarms."

Heaving a sigh, I shook my head. "Alright. My turn," I prompted, closing that topic before we simply rambled on. "How did you find me?"

Smiling in a decidedly predatory fashion, Greengrass rubbed at his chin as if in thought. "Well, you did mention a Ministry citation on underage magic, did you not?"

"Right, it was during my second year."

"The Ministry retains copies of all those correspondences. They also keep a register of all connected Floo addresses, both _temporary_ and permanent."

My mouth worked silently for a moment. "Son of a bitch!" Standing and stomping around the tacky birdbath, I let my anger settle down, if not fully. "So you're saying anyone who had access to those documents could just look me up easy as a library book and drop on by?"

Nodding grimly, Greengrass stood as well, pacing by the bench, "There was apparently some work done to mask records of the Floo connection. I looked that up as an easier way to arrive, rather than drive all the way to Surrey, but the listing was locked and the details removed. I couldn't resubmit it for connection." Pulling a timepiece from his jacket, the man frowned a moment, before clicking it shut. "The Ministry however cannot lock underage magic usage documentation. Frankly, finding a young wizard or witch is remarkably easy. Everyone trips over that law at least once."

"See, and that's why I left. Well, partly," I explained, setting aside some of my worry and irritation. "You _explain_ things to me. When you sat me down in Privet, you were open and forthcoming to me. You didn't hide behind stupid riddles, didn't try to gloss things over, didn't sugar-coat or – forgive the language – bullshit me.

"Then of course, there were the Dursleys themselves," I sourly noted. Memories of the family curdled my stomach still, more so now that I had time to think on what the effects of that supposedly simple contract were. The Dursleys would never win any awards for parenting, as Dudley was testament to, but things didn't have to be as bad as they were. If left to their own devices, they'd likely have been much kinder to me. Still, I had to hope it wasn't outright malicious. I had to hope that Dumbledore didn't know what that kind of contract would do.

Because, frankly, one Dark Lord was bad enough. I don't want to think of what it mean if the Headmaster actually planned on those people being cruel and unpleasant.

"So, lets see..." I began, stretching and making sure my wand was in easy draw – a habit I'd been trying to cultivate since the maze. "You could have taken me by force – and thanks to my own surprise, had my wand to ensure it wouldn't take much. Hell, your wife practically explained that one action as being 'for my benefit', considering the Ministry." I snorted at this, laughing quietly. "You had the Dursleys at wandpoint, and make no mistake – if they'd been harmed officially, I'd be blamed," I pointed out. This actually caused the man some distress, but he nodded, agreeing to my assertion. "The Ministry, and Fudge specifically have that much of a grudge against me, if you recall the _Prophet_.

"You asked me why I didn't resist more earlier. I had no real choice. I've been keeping my eyes open in case, but so far?" I shrugged, relaxing a bit. "Up till recently, you've given me nothing to worry about, in regard to my safety. Does that mean I trust you?" My laughter caused Mr. Greengrass to start somewhat. "About as far as I can throw you, one handed."

Brow furrowed and a stormy expression on his face, Mr. Greengrass stood and began pacing slowly. "Have we not treated you as an honored guest? I know the conditions in the dungeons were not the most luxurious but-"

I held up a hand, still chuckling slightly. "A gilded cage is still a prison, and a smiling warden is still a jailor, when he holds the keys," I quietly replied. "If it's any consolation? It's the nicest cage I've been in."

Mr. Greengrass looked absolutely torn at this, but the emotions flitting across his face were too hard to figure out for me, not knowing him well. Finally, seeming to settle on a terse irritation – I think – the man sat again. "I... apologize if that is how you see your stay here."

"Don't," I countered with a slight smile. As much as it was truth, I didn't mean to upset the man. He really had done his best to accommodate me, within the constraints of a plan I didn't see the shape of yet. At least it seemed so. The healers, and his dismissal of them on my request, did a lot to prove this.

If he wanted me to train and work to become just a counter in the conflict against Voldemort, then he wouldn't have let that point go easily, if at all. On the other hand, if he cared not at all about my well being, they'd never have been called, period. It showed he didn't think of me just as a thing, a commodity, despite the value I apparently held.

Yes, I was somewhat impressed. Wary, but impressed. "Honestly, Mr. Greengrass, there's nothing you or anyone could do to really change that wariness in me, other than spend years around me and show you had no other motives. Like the Weasleys."

At this, the man shot me a curious look. "I thought that you and the youngest son...?"

"Ron didn't really endear himself to me, early on last year," the words weren't easy – I was still unhappy with my first friend. Still, this needed to be cleared up, I suppose. If I was honest with myself, I also just needed someone outside it all to talk with. "His family on the other hand are the closest thing I've had to one though, and I'd not alienate them for his choices. He made amends after the first Task. But... you know, this wasn't the first time. He's always simmering, just on the edge of snapping at something, and more and more it feels aimed at me. It hurt. It hurt that he didn't believe me, and I don't think I'll ever forgive him that."

Greengrass watched me, and I felt like an idiot, muttering about my bleeding heart to a man I didn't even know the measure of. Despite it, it was like my mouth had taken holiday from my sensibilities, and kept running on. "Hermione too. She didn't turn on me so obviously, but every so often she'd ask me how I did it. Just in case, you know? There was always this feeling that she doubted me." I laughed then, not really blaming her. It was her nature, after all. If I'd pulled off such a feat, then of course it would eat at her.

Doubt is a wicked beast. More subtle than fear, it nests under the heart, and reaches up cruel claws, sinking them into the warmth there, slowing it down. It drags at us, when we least want it, least understand what it is that's wrong with us. I can't really damn either of them, when I doubted them just as much. It was the beast curled around my heart as well, thanks to the _Prophet_, Fudge, and Voldemort. I may be the Boy Who Lived, but I wasn't a match for the Minister, the press, or a risen Dark Lord, and these weren't foes that were just going to evaporate like morning mist on the Black Lake.

"I wasn't really being fair to them," I admitted, thinking back to myself at the end of the year. "I never bothered to write this summer. I guess in my own way, I wanted to test them. See if when fall rolls around, they're still there. A little malicious part of me wants to hurt them some, just like I've felt hurt. I suppose that tarnishes the finish on the Gryffindor Golden boy a bit," I concluded with a frown.

To my surprise, Mr. Greengrass slipped a bit closer on the bench, and hesitantly reached over, laying a hand on my shoulder. "To be honest, Harry?" I blinked up at him at the use of my given name, but nodded, "Hearing you say that, it's a relief to me."

I blinked my confusion. "I don't understand."

"It means you're human," he explained, smiling faintly. "Either one must believe the press, and you're a crazed dark wizard in training, or you're on the side of the fans and fanatics, and you can do no wrong. Flaws make us real." Standing, the older man looked out over the fields that surrounded his home with a thoughtful gaze. "I've been worried if you were real for a while now."

This surprised me, to say the least. "Real? You worried on that?"

Mr. Greengrass indicated I should follow, and started walking slowly toward the back of the house. "You're a very private person, Mr. Potter. Tell me, how much of yourself have you allowed my daughter, myself, or really anyone to get to know? Who do you confide in?"

I pursed my lips, considering that. "I... well. Up till this past year, Ron and Hermione, mostly."

"And they keep your confidence, do they not?" Nodding to that, I began to see what the other man meant. "The world doesn't know you. Right now, they can only see the results, what the press or as I said, your factioned watchers see. Is that in any way, the real you?"

Scoffing, I shook my head. "No more than Rita Skeeter is a real reporter. Alright, last question," I prompted, considering how I wanted to word this. "What is it you're ultimately planning for me? What is the end result?"

He smirked at that, chuckling. "I'll answer that one tomorrow. Today, we need a foundation for you to work on, first. One can't build an empire without the ground beneath, after all." I gave him a wary glance at that. Something about his wording just... rubbed me the wrong way.

We continued to walk easily in a more comfortable silence for a few minutes, till we arrived at a gazebo with a stone floor and enough space under its roof to accommodate a small gathering. "This is our portkey and apparition portal. The ground's ward will dump anyone who tries, and is not keyed, here." Looking over to me, the taller man smiled slightly, "you may not trust us yet, Mr. Potter, but... I hope we can change that, in a mutual fashion."

Eyes narrowed more in thought than annoyance, I considered his words. "I suppose we can," and nodding, I reached out and we shook hands. "As for the rest..." I shook my head, heaving a sigh. "Just give it time, I guess."

"I'll counter that with a request, to give us that time, Mr. Potter." Smirking slightly, he rocked on this heels a moment. "If you'd allow, I'd like to continue speaking on the reason you're here. This will take us to a number of locations, some distance away. Would you like to unburden yourself beforehand? I wouldn't want you to loose some of your things, from being jostled from travel."

Sheepishly I nodded, and made a quick trip to the house, followed by the man's amused laughter.

Damn my trusting nature. At least he didn't catch me in that lie. I hope.

–

When the first portkey dropped us off, I was glad of that small respite to empty my pockets, considering I landed hard enough on my hip to bruise it. If my shrunken trunk were still there, I shudder to think on what condition it would be in now.

"I took the liberty of hiring a solicitor versed in magical and mundane finance to help organize things," Mr. Greengrass noted, as we walked at a fair clip around a small gatehouse. While he spoke, I looked around, and wondered where we were, but didn't have long to do so.

The nook we'd portkeyed into looked to be on the far side of the gatehouse, which stood sentinel to a large plot of land that seemed heavily forested from my point of view. As far around as I could see, the property that the modernly paved road lead to was bordered by a lush rise of green, the summer light gentler here, and slightly cooler. "We're a bit more north of The Fields, practically in Scotland really," Greengrass noted, seeing me rub slightly at my arms.

I followed along, noting the street sign, Cross Lane, as we strolled, "The man we'll be meeting, Edward Hawkins, is a decent sort. He's a solicitor though, and his mind is in the books and bylaws, not the people and the end result," Greengrass added, his face blank. I couldn't tell what he thought about that, so simply nodded, showing I'd heard him. "We'll be meeting him in a property on the Ravensworth Estate, Coxclose Lodge. With the death of the caretakers in the mid nineteen-seventies, it's fallen into some disrepair, so be warned."

My eyes were all on the large house, though I tried to take in the man's words. It was an old style, with high a high, peaked roof, framed on either side of the home by brick-and-mortar chimneys. Vines and climbing greenery had almost taken over the Lodge's face, from what I could see, though it did nothing to take away from the structures beauty. Perhaps I was biased, but the the placed looked downright _homey_.

Red tiles sat in disarray on the roof, showing the age and disrepair further, as did the three darkened, boarded windows on the upper floor with their greened copper peaks and small decorative spires, curious things that made me think of lightning rods. A low stone wall, crumbling and mossy, circled and ran into the nearby wood, and in the distance I could faintly make out the curve of Cross Lane on one side, and in the deeper woods the crumbling and ancient ruin of what may have one day been a guard tower.

I pointed to the ruin, and Greengrass cast a small spell, squinting, "Yes, that looks to be the south border tower of Ravenshelm. We'll go by the keep proper later, after meeting with Hawkins. I'm unsure of the state of the place and its wards and protections, so for now we'll have to make do with Coxclose."

Not really arguing the point, I followed him with my eyes sweeping, taking in all I could. This supposedly was _mine_. It was a heady concept, for someone like me, who's history of things with that label were few and far between.

Closer to the Lodge, I was surprised to see a small car parked on a gravel lane that ran behind and into the wood, obviously meeting Cross Lane within. "Muggles?"

Greengrass nodded absently, "The caretakers of Coxclose were, yes. At least one of the properties under the Baronies your title you hold are muggle communities. Now, at any rate. If memory serves, Collingwood was the only magical community, outside of Ravenshelm's grounds itself, but that was over two generations ago. Less for the keep, of course. Don't hold me to that, though, Hawkins will have details."

We were greeted at the door by a small, balding, furtive little man that introduced himself as Edward. "Right, to business. You're the client?" His intense gaze fixed on me, and I looked to Greengrass.

"Edward – Mr. Hawkins – this is my associate, Harry Potter. I hired you on his behalf," the man smoothly introduced us, taking the solicitor's hand in a strong grip. I followed suit, trying to take queues from the him. "Lets have a seat," he continued, and we did so, though I was wary of the room itself.

Coxclose gave the appearance of a slightly run-down home from the outside, but within, the decay and derelict nature of the Lodge was clear. Wood sagged where it wasn't structural, and in some places even those features were less than stable looking. Mold grew on anything that could hold moisture, which was just about everything, from stone walls to what I had to guess were the splintered and soggy remnant of furniture, all swept to the side or piled up high in the main room's great fireplace.

A steel table with some chairs were set up in what looked to be the main hall, overlooked by mouldering and cobweb infested trophies, which stared with glassy eyes from the walls. I repressed the shiver that settled in my bones at being watched by dozens of dead eyes, and took a seat in a plastic chair.

"Well, to be honest, I only just finished with the audits," the little man began, taking a number of ledgers from his briefcase. "With more than a decade of delinquency in the worst cases, most of the actual documents and claims had gone unread or answered. Glenn, I have to tell you – it was a mess."

I blinked, shooting my host a quick look. Mr. Greengrass, Glenn I suppose his name was, nodded, a shadow over his features. "Derelict? No one was overseeing the accounts or properties at all?"

Heaving a sigh, then coughing on the moldy air, Edward nodded. "More of less. There were stewards in place up till late in the eighties, but they weren't replaced. That sort of thing can't be just assumed, the landholder has to appoint them, and there hasn't been one active since..." The solicitor peered into a ledger, and nodded, "Nineteen eighty."

"Makes sense," I quietly added. "That was when my parents died, within the year."

Edward Hawkins went about his report as if I'd not spoken – and I began to see what Greengrass meant when he spoke of the man's focus. Most of the numbers made no sense to me, but I did start seeing a trend, and I was somewhat more than a little nervous at what seemed to be being said.

Mr. Greengrass peaked his hands, settling his chin on outstretched thumbs. "So. The local tariffs are being directly passed to the Crown?" I blinked. Isn't that what's supposed to happen...?

Looking up from his ledgers, Edward made a noncommittal noise, "Some. The base fifteen percent tax is passed along of course, but land tax, inheritances, trade and the like are currently in a moratorium. The officers of Revenue and Customs have taken up the duty, without the stewards and Baronies being claimed."

"Oh that's going to get sticky," Glenn muttered, eyes narrowing. "R&C hates letting the titled landowners get their hands back in the coffers."

Edward scoffed, "No doubt. But," the man handed Greengrass a small sheaf of forms, within a manilla folder. "Here are the claimant's forms. You'll need a will reading, proof of birth, and a reasonable amount of squeeze to get it done by your deadline."

"Squeeze?" I asked, puzzled.

Greengrass gave me a wry smile, "In the world of politics, business, and back alleys, it's a graft. Bribe."

I sat back and kept my mouth shut after that. As I listened I picked up on the gist of things, however. The estate would be within the value range of the Inheritance Tax, which means that a flat percent, upwards of thirty, would be due to Revenue and Customs. Greengrass and Hawkins bandied number about that boggled my mind, but seemed to make Glenn less than pleased. "These fees... well. Nothing ever came cheap."

The worst of the three land situations was Collingwood, which still held a small magical community. I recalled it from my first talk with Greengrass, and that a Garret Dorham had approached the Wizengamot regarding the Barony's lack of custodianship. Collingwood was currently going through a period of agricultural reform, according to Hawkins, and needed certain permissions from the Barony, or further up the line, to convert fallow farms into homes. Unlike some magical communities, Collingwood seemed to be doing well, but needed help to continue to do so.

Dorham was the go-to in the community, a strong man that Glenn described as "A good father, according to his son in the Ministry. Focused on his family and the well-being of the people in his community.". I honestly hope so – apparently I was to meet with him sooner as opposed to later. What made Collingwood the biggest problem, appeared to be that they didn't want a Baron now, having been neglected for a decade, or were petitioning for a change of representation.

The two Baronies of Evans and Eslington were, as Greengrass called them, mundane. Where Collingwood was listed in the Crown's Peerage, it was done so on the books Hawkins explained as a "Reserve and farming" property. Which is what it would appear to be, to any of the Crown's muggle R&C agents. This was balanced by the actual value being assessed and taxed via the Ministry and Wizengamot.

This kind of double-entry and valuing made my head spin, but I had to admit, there was logic there, which seemed out of place. With the Peerage being so intermingled with magical society, it made sense that the Crown and Ministry had developed a system to keep things clean, and also secret. I just didn't think I could manage to understand them, without a massive amount of study, or a good cheat-sheet.

The Evans Barony I learned was a simple one, being mainly the title and a hereditary share in a vacated school that resided in Merthyr Tydfil, Wales. That on its own surprised me, as it turned out that my mother and aunt's father was a physician, and if the records were correct, the man struck Petunia from his will over some incident in their past. I had to wonder if that lead to the antagonism between the two.

Cyfarthfa High School had fallen into the modern age gracelessly, according to Hawkins, and needed new grounds to be recognized as something other than a simple novelty. Cyfarthfa Castle, which was really just a manor house constructed to look like a castle, had been vacated on the same year my parents died, leaving the property to the Evans Barony to manage. According to his accounts, the property was in tax default, and listed to be sold for value reclamation within the year.

Least problematic of the lot was the Eslington Barony, which was just beginning to suffer as their steward died only three years ago, though he was quick to point out this meant little as far as wizarding matters went. The property we currently resided in was part of that Barony, with Ravenshelm being the official 'center' of the lands, for magical purposes.

Eslington, on the mundane side, held its seat in Newcastle Upon Tyne, and presided over the same metropolitan area. This marked a definite change, as the mundane side of things far outstripped the magical. "This is where, of course, things will get complicated," Edward noted, leaning back in his folding chair.

"The Eslington Barony, to the Wizengamot, is little more than a castle, a few nearby forests and fields, and the hereditary title tied with Earl Ravensworth." I nodded along, growing nervous as Mr. Greengrass let out a low whistle. "I take it you found the entry for Newcastle, Glenn?"

"Bloody hell," the man swore, nearly shocking me out of my chair. I'd yet to see Mr. Greengrass really ruffled, and that he was impersonating Ron here, worried me. "Alright, I know I'm reading this wrong, Edward," Greengrass began, shaking his head. "Tell me this one in small, easy to swallow terms."

Hawkins made a sour face, and took the notebook back. "Alright, put simply, due to the change in times since feudal barony, the title here on the mundane side means little. Like the Evans title, it too had a hereditary trust, but this one is position, rather than property.

"Newcastle is a modern town – they elect officials, rather than have the outdated systems. That aside, the city's charter has a small stipulation built into it," here Hawkins' face bent in what I hope to never see again – a smile. The man had truly horrid teeth. "Newcastle owes the land that the city was built on, to the Barony. As time progressed, the Barony managed to maintain a strong hold on its position within the City Council, directing and guiding the development.

"Sometime around... I think the early nineteen-hundreds, the local Baron lost his interest in politics, and assigned some of his proxies to manage his seats. This situation held, as it was just easier to deal with for wizards to have contacts, than to appear and possibly disrupt the Statutes." Edward took a moment to take a draw off his bottle of water, something I wished Greengrass and I had thought of. "This one is going to be your headache."

I decided that it was a good time to make my presence known again, "How so?"

Edward glanced my way, and chuckled. "For one, the way the Council is set up, Baron Eslington is responsible for fourteen of the twenty-six city wards – electoral districts. The Baron's proxies, and barring that, his decisions must be met by those seat-holders." I sat back hard at that, a tight, unpleasant feeling in my chest. "Once you assume that title, within the year, you must either set up, or approve the current holders of your seats there.

"Historically, because you hold the majority of votes, the Council has always been lead by the Baron as Lord Mayor." Hawkins wrinkled his nose at the next point, "that became touchy, as the Earl Ravensworth took over the Barony, and then it became a subsidiary of a wizard. Your father had no more a mind for politics than his father, at least for muggles."

Greengrass saved me from drowning in unknowns, by throwing me a stone painted as a life preserver. "What Edward is trying to say, Harry, is that Newcastle has gotten used to their way of electing seats, and for you to take up the Barony Eslington, you'll be politically overthrowing a democratic system."

I paled and I'm sure my eyes were threatening to roll from their sockets. "What? I have to what?"

Laughing, the man clapped me on the back, "You don't _have_ to do a thing, Harry," the man replied. "You have the option to take up a very complex political career – once you're of age. For now, I suggest we let Edward chew this into something you can deal with, and we note what wards and who's seated there.

"Later, we can make our rounds, and you can do a meet and greet. Get to know the people there that you're essentially ruling through."

Nodding, I had no problems admitting I liked his take on things better than Edward's. "So, I don't _have_ to do anything with this one?"

Shaking his head, Greengrass smiled, "Not a thing. Oh, you'll be on the books again when you take up the titles, so those seats will come to you, either to justify their claim, or try and convince you of this or that. You'll learn what it means to be on the receiving end of lobbyists and petitioners, I'll wager, and wish you had an older brother before this over."

To be honest, I already was. "Alright... so to summarize, the Collingwood claim is a wholly magical community?" Glenn nodded, and I made a note in my own notebook – woefully thin and not at all up to today's task – that I'd brought. "Evans is just a school, which is in default over back taxes," another nod, and I continued, "and Eslington has seats on a Council, that elect a Mayor to run Newcastle. That about cover things?"

Grinning widely, Greengrass leaned back and smirked at Hawkins. "You owe me ten Galleons. I told you he'd sum it up in less than a minute."

–

After the meeting with Edward, Greengrass and I left Coxclose, and discussed some of the other details. "So, did you see underneath the obvious in there?"

I thought about the question a moment, and nodded, "Quite a lot of the inheritance is in disarray. The school's going to be sold, unless I bring it up out or arrears which is going to be quite a lot of money. Newcastle will be a nightmare, and Eslington... I take it that's going to cost me a lot to sort out as well."

Greengrass answered with a pleasant smile. "Quite quick on the uptake. Yes, those titles are heavy on responsibility, and in politics, that means money – going one way or another. If you decide not to forfeit your claim, the value of the estates will be taxed at thirty one percent, for the mundane. Wizarding taxation for such things fell out of favor, thankfully," he added in a droll tone.

"Ravenshelm Keep you'll need to have assessed for its protections, and how to key yourself to them, which is likely something that will be addressed in records of your family's wills," Glenn continued. "There is also the matter of bringing such properties up to livable conditions, if you so choose. More money, as you'll see."

I was beginning to wonder if assuming the titles left to me would put me into bankruptcy. Still, this was my heritage, in a way. My family, my ancestors were responsible for these people and places. It was their money, in that vault, not mine... it almost felt like theft, to think of shirking that responsibility in favor of the money. Then there was of course, the matter of my age. "What about the fact I'm only fourteen? I'm sure I can't assume any of these titles at that age."

"Quite true, and there aren't allowances for such things in either world. Typically," here, Greengrass halted, giving me a rather intent stare. "Typically these things would pass on like guardianship. Your assigned parent or warder would act as regent, to your heir apparent."

A few things suddenly came into focus quite sharply for me with that. "That's why you wanted Sirius. He's my godfather – he'd know the wills, he'd be able to... no, he couldn't assume proxy for the titles in his condition, could he," I mused.

"Not as such. But," A sly look came over the man's face, and I started understanding more what he had intended, and why he asked me to wait earlier today when I asked him his goals. Still, there was the sense I was missing something... "Sirius can pass those responsibilities onto another. There are also a few favors I owe the man, that I can try to call in abroad... It may simplify matters immensely."

I latched onto a vain hope at those words, "You have a way to clear his name?"

"Harry," Glenn turned me with a thin frown, a hand on my shoulder. "You know as well as I, that if Fudge admitted the Ministry did something wrong with Sirius it would be political suicide. True, it wasn't on his watch – I think it was Bagnold who was at the helm then.

"Regardless, no," he gently replied to my hopeful look. "We cannot exonerate him through normal channels." We began walking again, when Glenn shot me a questioning look. "What makes you think he's truly innocent? You seem to know something that isn't public record."

Cursing my slip up, I shoved my hands into my pockets. It was things like this that made me realize that I really needed to get a handle on my emotions. One day, I was going to mess up badly, and get someone hurt, or killed. "I've seen Pettigrew. He's alive."

Letting out a low whistle, Greengrass took on a thoughtful mien. "That... that has potential. I'll keep it in mind," the man noted. He seemed to pull his attention away from those thoughts with an effort. "Now, all the titles aside, your seat on the Wizengamot will be-"

"Wait," I held up my hands, looking at him incredulously. "I have a seat on the Wizengamot?!"

"Well, no. Not at the moment, as you're underage, and there's really nothing you can do about that," Greengrass conceded. "Like the titles, you'll need to figure out how your regency as heir apparent to the titles works. There should have been a registry of such, either in the Ministry or the Crown's records.

"The Potter seat as it is now is empty, as I said, so obviously the Ministry is either ignoring that record, or it doesn't exist. It's also dependent on you holding the Barony Collingwood," he explained, as we began walking again. "You can see why Dorham's approach to have that Barony reseated garnered people's attention."

I winced, nodding. If Garret Dorham's claim and bid to have the Barony removed from the Potter name completed, then the Potters would lose their seat, and it would go to another... "Who... did he suggest someone?"

Greengrass' expression blanked, and he stole a glance my way from the corner of his eye. "To replace you? I believe he named someone."

After hours dealing with Edward Hawkins, vague answers didn't do much to settle my nerves. "Well, who is it?"

Glenn reacted to my angry tone with a sigh, shaking his head slowly. "Collingwood lies in Gloucestershire, bordered on the south by Wiltshire." The man's tone had gone blank, matching his expression as he said this. "Dorham suggested that if the Barony not be dissolved, as the current seat local to Wiltshire, that Lucius Malfoy would be a more attentive lord and named him."

The world drew down to a pinprick, as my vision focused completely on a point, far distant. "Malfoy...? Malfoy would-" I cut myself off, shaking my head hard, trying to put aside the sound of my own pulse hammering in my ears. I couldn't really figure out what made me more furious, that someone would name the Death Eater as my replacement, robbing me of a part of my heritage, or that if such a thing occurred, Voldemort would have even more of a foothold in the Wizengamot. The assumption that Malfoy had a seat was easy to come to, considering, and that this would potentially give him two... "No. No, I can't let that stand. Absolutely not."

Greengrass took me by the shoulder, and lead me over to the side of the path we were walking. In the near distance, I saw the gatehouse we'd used arrived at, and wondered if our travels for the day were done. "Listen, Harry," he began, looking pensive. "I didn't want to mention it till you understood all that was involved. If I told you that night, who it was that would end up with your seat, what would you have thought?"

Trying to push the anger aside, I considered Glenn's words. "Angry, obviously. But I suppose... I'd wonder if you were just baiting me, or trying to control me. Everyone knows how badly Draco and I get along."

"Not to mention his father being a former Death Eater, claiming the Imperius," he added. I didn't correct him, considering I knew that Lucius was at the ritual of Voldemort's rebirth. Let him think what he will... There's a certain personal score that this is turning into, that I'd rather keep to myself for the moment. "Edward needed time to look over things, and get a solid response on the state of your estates. That was half the reason for the Occlumency training – time, as well as the focus it brings. You _need_ that focus and clarity to manage all that is before you. I hope you aren't too upset with me, keeping that from you."

I shook my head, as we reached the gatehouse. "No. Well, as long as it hasn't gone through..."

"No, not yet," Greengrass replied. "It's not even a full motion, only a suggestion, really. Otherwise I wouldn't have waited. It has the potential to grow into more, obviously, and the next full session won't be for some time, so we should have opportunity to shore up your connections with Dorham."

The portkey back wasn't as rocky, making me wonder if state of mind had something to do with that method of travel. I'd been practicing my Occlumency, filing what we'd gone over and trying to distance myself from my anger when we left Ravensworth Estate, and rather than land on my backside, I only stumbled slightly on landing.

Greengrass and I chatted on the way back to his house, mostly discussing what he felt our next step should be, and the tentative repeat of his request to involve Sirius. "I still think it would do well to contact him," Glenn asserted, holding up his hands in surrender. "There aren't many others alive that know of your family as well, and even less that have any tie to you. Sure, there's the Longbottoms, but Augusta has been less than pleasant to deal with, and she was never close to your parents. She can, on the other hand, tell you a great deal about the generations before them, on the Potter side. Regardless, once things start to move, you should contact her..."

I'm not really sure why I didn't just tell him to sod off for bringing Sirius up again. Maybe it was my hope that he could do something to help him, so that he could walk around a free man. Maybe it was the shock of all that rested on my shoulders, or the realization that if I didn't play my cards properly, what power my family did posses in the wizarding world would soon go to Malfoy of all people. In the end, I said nothing, but didn't outright deny him either. His arguments made sense, I just didn't know if it was worth it. One wrong move, and I'd lose him.

It was a fight for another day.

Speaking of fights, it looked like Mr. Greengrass and I walked in on a rather fierce row between Daphne and her mother, though perhaps it would be better to describe it as walking into the neighborhood of a hurricane. Rooms away, we could still hear them arguing.

"...will not have my daughter off gallivanting for days with-"

Daphne's voice, loud but calm, drifted from the sitting room, "It is my decision, isn't it? Isn't that what you and father keep insisting on as part of this whole gamble? My right to make my own decisions?"

Mr. Greengrass looked suddenly wary and anxious, which put me on guard immediately. "If you want to go and calm them down-" I offered, only for the man to cut me off.

"No. No, I think actually it would be good to go over some of those ledgers with you," he opted instead, setting a hand behind my shoulder and guiding me toward the hallway firmly.

The argument escalated again, mumbled voices becoming clear in their volume, "...Daphne Marie, I do not approve of that boy, or your behavior!"

"Mother, I don't see that I need your approval," came the familiar voice, and I paused, walking slower. Glenn noticed this and shot me a disapproving look, as if he meant to chide me for eavesdropping, when in truth it was near impossible not to hear the women arguing.

Mrs. Greengrass finally seemed to reach her wit's end, "Then I will revoke your casting and travel privileges," which was answered by Daphne's low growl, "Montague is not the kind of boy your father and I had in mind when we told you about refusing to honor that contract-"

"Just... forget it, mother. I'm done discussing this with you," Daphne spat, and from the nearby doorway the rather disheveled and upset witch stalked, looking nearly as if she'd just been on the receiving end of a dueling lesson. Seeing us – myself and her father – standing somewhat stunned near the hallway, she narrowed her eyes and stomped off up the stairwell toward her rooms.

I blinked, putting the pieces of what I'd heard, illicitly or no, together into some form of order. Mr Greengrass beside me was looking like a man who's hand had been caught in the cookie jar, which made me wonder... what did he have to be guilty of? "Montague?" I asked, seeing him start slightly. "Paul Montague, the Slytherin Quidditch Chaser?"

It was then that Mrs. Greengrass exited the sitting room, still ranting quietly, as she closed the doors behind her. She stalled slightly in her stride as she saw us, however, "That girl! Ugh. Oh..." looking around furtively, the usually composed woman made a fast clip for the stairwell, apparently not done talking with her daughter.

The surreal feeling of the day compounded, as the possibilities that lay in the two elder Greengrass' reactions started to occur to me. I turned to Glenn, and met the man's gaze. "Contract?"

Wincing, the older wizard closed his eyes. "It is a complicated situation, and a personal one. Sufficed to say, there was an offer for marriage made to us for Daphne by one of the suspected Death Eater families, for when she came of age. We refused to honor it, but the debacle and results are that she's... well."

I waited for the man to continue, utterly bemused by his sudden lack of composure. Finally I prompted, "She's what?"

Regaining his poise, Glenn Greengrass turned and made to follow his wife, leaving me to my own devices, but not before his voice carried back across the room. "Daphne has decided to take matters into her own hands."

It wasn't a clear answer, but it was close enough. Her own hands...? I can only assume that meant she was dating someone. Likely this Montague that was mentioned...

In a stark change from my thoughts that morning, I decided the last thing I wanted was to run into any of the assorted family for a change. So decided, I made my way back outside, toward the gazebo with the intent to watch the sun setting over the unbroken horizon that the fields around the manor house offered.

As if sensing the need to complete the strangeness of my day, Astoria was there as well. I didn't remember seeing her when Mr. Greengrass and I arrived, but she had a tendency to blend into the background, and more than once I'd walked by her, only for the younger girl to call out and draw my attention.

We sat in relative silence on opposite sides of the shelter, watching the sun settle gold and red over the horizon, painting the sky in fiery tones. As the light lessened, I considered my reactions to what I'd heard... and frowned. I was spending entirely too much time thinking about the witch. Two weeks of almost solid contact with Daphne, and one day where we don't behave like loosely leashed cats and dogs, and I choose to read too much into it.

Once the sky had begun to darken, Astoria finally broke the quiet that had settled over us, "I come out here, when I need to be away from everyone."

"I suppose I've been using the dungeons for that," I replied, mind abuzz with too many conflicting thoughts. It wasn't quite enough, obviously, for me to learn of my responsibilities. No, there had to be this... whatever it was, with Daphne as well. So much for compartmentalizing and putting away all notions of the girl, I groused silently. "Did you come out to avoid the fight?"

"Daphne," the youngest Greengrass prompted, causing me to glance her way. As if that was all she intended to say, the young woman met my eyes, and tilted her head again in the same fashion she'd done so, when I met her. Seeming to find what she wanted, Astoria turned from my gaze. "My sister is very strong-willed," she quietly said, apparently quite taken with a particular hem in her robe. "She does not like others making decisions for her."

Realizing I wasn't going to escape the topic so easily, I leaned back and sighed wearily. "Yeah, well, I can understand that."

"There is a boy," she murmured, voice barely audible over the light winds that whistled around the gazebo. "He's very... conflicted. There are things he feels he must do, and things he would rather do, and again things he knows he should do." Curious where she was going with this, I turned my attention fully to the slight witch. "One day, I know he'll make a decision. He has to, after all," looking up, she gave a mirthless little laugh. "Like us. Father knows we _should_ ally with the Dark Lord," I hissed in a breath, but she continued as if I wasn't even there, "but refuses. He _must_ protect his family, after all, as there are no constants in the world. No promises that either side can offer that would do that.

"So he does what he'd _rather_ do, and hopes. He would rather make his own way, live by his own rules, if he can. Daphne takes after him, in that way," she murmured, trailing off.

"Who is the boy," I asked, wondering what point Astoria was trying to make, and wondering if she was trying to make some kind of allusion to me.

She spared me a slight smile. "Just someone I know. Does it bother you?"

I recalled with some irritation an observation I made on meeting the young witch some weeks ago – that I'd never understand girls, small or otherwise. Astoria seemed to personify this concept, currently. "Does what bother me," I countered testily, wishing for the earlier silence to return. I didn't, after all, come out here to deal with anything other than my own thoughts.

"Seeing that the world doesn't revolve around you," she answered, the small smile on her lips turning secretive and mocking.

I was halfway back to the manor house, when her laughter drifted up on the wind to me. Cursing women, politics, and busybody parents in equal measure, I stalked down toward the dungeons, content that soon I'd make sure I had a place of my own, free of all three.

That was at least a goal I could readily get behind.

–

Outline point: 2-B,C

AN: Whoo. Mkay. If you plan to gripe about Daphne dating someone else, relax. Read 6.

**My view on the fic:** I find the perspective possibly confusing to people, as Harry is not the best narrator, or observer. There's a lot unanswered, a lot that you simply cannot see, due to it. We can't see Dumbledore's reaction, what the Trio really is thinking, the inner workings of the Greengrass family. All we have, is the rather imperfect window that is Harry. That means, we don't see some things, till he does, thinks them, or finds out. I think a lot of authors get spoiled with using third person, though. It takes the suspense, the humanity out of the read.


	7. Chapter 6

**Snakecharmer**

Chapter 6

In Vino Veritas

–

A/N: This will be the last chapter over the holidays. I have other projects to work on, and want to give them some time. Hopefully this will equalize the story somewhat, and allow it to 'settle'. IE, no cliffhanger.

I'm also using the 'burned Quirrell to ashes' viewpoint. Why? Same reason as the film – more visceral appeal.

(Possible spoiler) No. I'm not copping out. This is how it was planned.

–

"Thanks for meeting with me, Harry," Glenn greeted, as I closed the sitting room doors behind me.

I nodded, taking in the room, seeing a number of the ledgers we'd acquired from Hawkins the day before arrayed on a table, two bottles of sherry, and what looked to be a few contracts. Looking back to my host, I grinned slightly. "No need to thank me, it is your house."

Glenn scoffed, indicating a seat. "Perhaps, but social graces are what keep us separate from barbarism. Now, I'm sure after such a full day yesterday, you realize we have much to do?"

Affecting a resigned sigh, I nodded, and we shared a chuckle as the table between us became littered with things to sign, read, and consider.

I had the sense of mind last night to ask Gally to show me to an owl, and wrote out a small inquiry to Gringotts asking for my current balance, and a rate of exchange to Pounds. I knew I'd need this to figure out what options I had for the inheritance, so best to get started. By the time I had finished the letter however, I had no idea if they'd accept it. It wasn't as if I could tape my key to the thing.

Greengrass ran into me on the way back, apparently needing to owl something as well. Only, it looked like his was a Howler. How odd. He just didn't strike me as the kind of man to send such a thing. We briefly discussed options, and he took me to the study and introduced me to a truly irritating device called a Blood Quill.

My signature in blood would prove my claim to the vault, and as he explained, the loathsome things were used for all kinds of binding documents. Just one more oddity of the wizarding world, I suppose.

I pulled the notice to my side, and did the calculations for the balance in my vaults. The trust vault was explained simply enough – I could do whatever I wanted with it. What lay in the family vaults however, I would need the approval of either a legal guardian or...

Legal guardian. My quill fell out of my hand. "You. You made the Dursleys sign over my guardianship to you."

Glenn sat back, a somewhat pleased smile on his face. "Yes. And the day after, I submitted the same forms to the Ministry's liaison to the Crown's offices for verification and notarization."

Sweet Merlin on a bike, the man had me by the throat and I didn't even know it. "So all the things you talked about with me yesterday-"

"I knew. How do you think I could get a solicitor to look into the situation?" The smirk on Greengrass' face made me absolutely ill. "Harry, think for a moment. Why would I take you to such a meeting? Why would I explain the situations to you, and ask for your input?"

I closed my eyes, as the maddening rush of panic in my head calmed marginally. The man had a point. He was acting, had been acting, like council to me, or an advisor. If he wanted to, he could have likely just signed all the required forms for regency or whatever the hell it took, and just ran with it at day one. Instead he hired someone to essentially explain it to me, and then turned around to ask me how I wanted to do things. "Alright. Alright, I'm just going to say that was well played."

"Thank you."

"And I ask you actually explain it when you have me by the balls in the future, if I don't see it immediately."

Booming a laugh, Greengrass sat back and regarded me with a smile. "Alright, Harry. I promise. But you do see that I've tried so far to inform and act on your behalf? I've made no actions other than securing that guardianship, which also acts as a safeguard. Nothing short of conviction and sentencing to Azkaban for me and my wife will counter it." With a feral grin, he jabbed the table with a finger. "And if they tried? I have a few other counters put in place."

I swallowed nervously. "What kind of counters?"

"Tell me Harry, what do you think of the Delacours? Ever consider learning French?"

I gaped at the man. "Your... your counter is to send me to _France?!_"

"You and my daughters," he amended, causing me to sit back. I never expected the man before me to be so well connected. "Jean-Paul Delacour is a business partner of mine, and casual acquaintance. However, he was most accommodating, once I asked his opinion of a certain savior of his youngest daughter. Gabrielle, I understand, has taken quite the interest in you."

Glenn finally stopped laughing, once my sting of curses died off. Returning to my calculations, I finished tallying my finances, at least in liquid form, and converting the numbers to Pounds. I slid that total to Glenn, who nodded with a slight frown. "Problem?"

Shaking his head, Glenn did some of his own calculations. "Not as such. I can take the Inheritance Tax out of your family vault, but there won't be much left, which does pose a problem. We need to get those wills. I'm sure there are more properties listed under them. I don't recall Godric's Hollow being in the ledgers at all yesterday."

I winced at the mention of my parent's former home and the site of their death. Still, what he said made a kind of sense, "Did you ask him to research all of what I would be inheriting, or just what was under those titles?"

Greengrass looked at me blankly for a moment, before rubbing at his temple lightly. "The curse of age, Mr. Potter, is that you start assuming you know everything." Sighing, he penned a quick note and rose, "I'll be right back," he muttered, walking off grumbling something about needing more owls.

While he was away, I spied on his notes, and couldn't stop the low whistle in response. He wasn't joking. That damned Inheritance Tax would drain quite a lot of my liquid wealth. There was quite a bit more money tied up in old investments and properties, and there was of course the option of selling one of the titles – Greengrass had scratched out a rough cost-to-profit schedule for zeroing the debt on Cyfarthfa Castle, then either selling it or as his options noted, converting it in some fashion.

I wasn't terribly enthused about that, but saw the possible necessity. Only the title of Earl Ravensworth was hereditary, the others were tied into the ownership or custodianship of the lands and responsibilities they accompanied. It just irked me, that I might have to take such drastic measures.

When Greengrass was back, I was studiously scratching out my signature on the claimant's forms, and itching the back of my hand. Wretched little device...

"Alright, Hawkins will Floo me later, possibly tomorrow on the status of the wills. Likely, as Sirius was incarcerated, they were never opened."

I nodded and sat back, rubbing at my eyes. One of the things I found rather bothersome about wizarding legislature, happened to be the contracts. Unlike what I recalled from my admittedly limited exposure to the muggle variety, everything legal and magical so far was hand written, in massively loopy and archaic form. Frankly, it gave me a headache.

Greengrass seemed to read my mood and passed me a glass, half full of amber liquid. "Cheaper than headache potion, and not nearly as rough going down," the man commented, tossing back a mouthful of his own.

Shrugging, I mimicked his action, and nearly spat the mouthful onto all the documents I'd just signed. "Gah!" Glaring all the while, I managed to choke down the sherry while Greengrass laughed.

Once the initial paperwork was done for working up the claimant's portion the the Wizengamot and the Ministry, things sped up, as the Crown's forms were much simpler. Those we'd need to deliever to the proper offices, and have an agent of Her Majesty swear me in. To my amusement, I found the muggle portion of this more ceremonial. According to Greengrass, all I had to do for my part was state a motion during a Wizengamot session, and declare my intent and my regent.

Seemed simple enough.

While we sipped sherry, conversation turned toward less weighty topics, and my host asked if I had any questions. In truth, I did, but likely not in the direction he was thinking. Once again I was thankful for the Occlumency studying I had done, and for the clarity and focus it gave me. If not for that, all the revelations the last few weeks and following events would have likely left me so emotionally unbalanced as to be striking out randomly and brooding in corners.

After my unpleasant interlude with Astoria the previous afternoon, I took a hard look at things and realized she was, in her own small, irritating, and evil way, correct. Since my first year at Hogwarts, so much that went on had been about me, revolved around me in some fashion. Even here with the Greengrasses it seemed the same, but that not-so-subtle reminder did quite a lot to adjust my views.

Glenn approached me, much like he would a very questionable business partner. He secured my cooperation – given, he didn't have to try hard to do so. I may not hate my relations, but given the choice to escape the Dursleys and the memories there to train, learn, and actually make something like progress for a summer? It wasn't a real choice, in my mind.

After that, he built up security between us. I was protected here, even if it was as I said, a gilded cage. I was under no illusions on that, ever. It was my choice to stay there though. I could have slipped the leash in London easily enough. If at the time my reasons were flawed – desperately wanting to escape the Dursleys, a desire to do anything to distract me from the reality that was Voldemort, a chance to do something other than scullery duty over a summer – then I could live with that. I'll be the first in line to say I make mistakes, and am not perfect. I can live with an imperfect decision.

Finally, Greengrass began laying out the details of our deal. This was as much about him and his family as me, I could tell, and so I had reason to think he would be fair. Why? Because _he_ sought _me_ out. He needed me, and so had to make it appeal, make it attractive to me. Call me narcissistic if you want, but it's more than I've gotten so far.

"Oh, Harry, you're a wizard – you get to go to Hogwarts!" It was a wonderful thing, but did I have a choice? The trend continued. Greengrass admitted he was willing to take me by force those weeks ago, but first he approached me not as a child, or a tool, or a possession, but an equal.

Of course I wanted to see where things would lead.

Yesterday gave me a lot to think about, but in a way, also very little. My inheritance was a simple matter, provided I could get the money from my family vaults. I would pay the tax, make sure the former school wasn't going to be sold, and deal with Dorham and his complaints, and the needs of Collingwood, if funds allowed. If not, then we'd figure something out. Maybe I'd repair and bring one of the properties back up to livable conditions. I didn't want to stay with the Greengrass family forever, after all.

One more afternoon of chatting with Astoria, and I may find myself forced to look up Snape for more accommodating company.

Newcastle and the Eslington Barony I didn't know what to do with, yet. That I could potentially oversee and be responsible for an entire metropolitan city was... appalling. Did no one think these laws through? Was the simple possession of blood, a passing of name such a determinant of ability, that people would blindly follow such a thing? Obviously not, considering the many wars, both civil and abroad, that centered on unfair rule.

No, it wasn't rule I was given over Newcastle. I was responsible for it. _To it_. My decisions could impact thousands of lives, in positive or negative ways, and those choices be cause for anything from praise to open revolt and... and what? Was there in place, systems like Dorham meant to use, to remove those responsibilities from me? I would have to look such things up.

My decisions toward my inheritance were simple – I would work to bring honor to my heritage. I wouldn't let anyone take that from me.

It was the other item that had been weighing on my mind, that refused to sit comfortably in the box I made for it. Oddly, however, I didn't find myself upset or wanting to brood as I had, after realizing I missed my chance with Cho. This was of course fundamentally different, but I only had so many points of reference to call on. Daphne, I realized, had become a fairly regular part of my day, and because of that, things that affected her place in it upset what I'd come to think of as my comfortable routine.

I could only give this notion more merit, as my feelings, jumbled and inscrutable as they were, settled into a kind of holding pattern. I wasn't upset about Montague, therefore I could not be jealous. Did that mean I didn't care about Daphne? Not exactly. I wasn't sure there... she was a bright, attractive, and without sounding cliché, I admitted a very unique girl. Daphne was her own person – and damn anyone who tried to make it otherwise! I let those thoughts drift back to the safety of routine notion, where they settled uncomfortably, but without much argument.

Was I worried about her? Yes, I could answer without hesitation. Did that mean I wanted something more between us? Considering her usual method of dealing with me was to either berate me about something, ignore me, or curse me, I had to say no. I would need to understand her better, and perhaps know that she was accommodating to the idea, before such a thing could happen, and right now, those things were lacking.

In the future? Hell in the future I could be dating Katie Bell. Dwelling there was unhealthy. One day at a time.

I was pulled out of my introspection by Mr. Greengrass nudging a glass my way, "Are you feeling well?"

Realizing I'd just spaced out on the man, I apologized, and we shared an amused moment at my expense, thanks to the strong drink. "So," I breached the silence, "What did you want to talk with me about?" There was this, also. He's told me quite bluntly he had a few things to discuss with me – one of which was my earlier question on his goals – today after business.

Glenn waved a hand vaguely about, "Life, the universe, everything," he said airily, to my bemused expression. "No?" Obviously something he expected was lacking in my reaction, and he sat back with a sign. "I'll have to have Daphne loan you those books. Quite entertaining.

"Speaking of my daughter," he none-too-gently guided the conversation, "I was wondering if you had anything you'd like to ask me?"

Sighing, I leaned back in my chair and peaked my fingers in a gesture I'd picked up from him, "Perhaps. Was it truly necessary for us to study Occlumency together?"

I'd put a number of things together last night, and the biggest of them was this. If Greengrass intended me to stay on at his home beyond the summer break that is be housed her during holidays while school was in, yes – Daphne would need to learn Occlumency. This didn't seem to be the case, as he literally took me by the hand to one of my properties. By his own reasons, however, that of protecting our minds at the Wizengamot, or from others about the nature of my stay here, the answer was no.

It was just unlikely Daphne would be singled out. Perhaps he was doing so for safety, but was it needed? I can't imagine so.

Glenn looked pensive, swirling his sherry in his glass slowly. "Needed? Perhaps not at the same time. She is young yet, and it can be dangerous for one without the talent to learn Occlumency if they have no skill in it," he admitted. Throwing back the rest of his drink, he poured another and observed it carefully. "Will you forgive me a father's foolishness?"

Closing my eyes, I nodded once, having come to this conclusion earlier. "Go on."

"I had hoped," Greengrass muttered, shaking his head, eyes distant. "You had enough political potential to secure not only the future of my family, but the prestige and reputation, if guided properly, to have enough momentum to be nearly unstoppable. I would teach you the art of politics, and you two would grow close, protecting one another, bolstering and helping each other." Grimacing, he huffed out a half-hearted curse. "Never wager on the hearts of young girls, Mr. Potter. You will always loose."

I was far from happy with him, but what was I to do? Take a potential ally and discard all they represented? I hoped I was smarter than that. "Look," I said bluntly, foregoing all social graces, "I do like Daphne, she seems a decent enough person. Currently, we're barely friendly with one another. I don't know what you expected to happen..."

Greengrass colored somewhat and huffed, "Nothing of that sort. I know she bonded well with young Longbottom, and has close friendships with both Miss Davis and Mr. Zabini. I just had hopes the same would occur, and that the two of you would find... companionship."

"Companionship?" I asked with some incredulity, though I kept my voice even.

"Someone to confide in. A friend. I hoped studying Occlumency would give you both insight into one another..." trailing off, he took a long drink of his sherry and grimaced. "Perhaps I was too optimistic. I hope you will forgive a man his machinations."

"Why me, though?" I figured it was a decent enough question. Aside from the benefits he mentioned, I also carried quite a lot of negatives. There was a Dark Lord in there, somewhere, if I recall correctly.

Laughing somewhat dryly, Glenn stood and paced about slowly, obviously thinking better on his feet. "I knew your father, though only by reputation. He was a just, honorable, upstanding young man – once he got out of school," he amended. "Lily seemed to anchor him. Evie and I have a wonderful relationship, and it strengthens us both. Sometimes we aren't our best, without someone there to be our best for.

"Do you hope, Mr. Potter?" The sudden question made me look up with surprise, and Glenn continued. "Hope for the future? Hope for something better? I mentioned a wager," pausing, the man stopped his pacing, and looked down at his hands wearily. "What would you do, to make sure a good future came to those you cared about? Would you sacrifice everything? Would you do everything in your power?

"Daphne... she's an amazing girl. Strong. Stronger than I could have hoped," Greengrass explained, a slight smile coming at the mention of his daughter. "I'm not a fool. Dumbledore may think he has a monopoly on secrets, but they are a currency trafficked widely. I know you faced You-Know-Who in your first year. I know of the basilisk, and what the Chamber implied, though one day I would like to hear the full tale. I know of your godfather, and I know that _he_ picked you, to be part of his resurrection." Glenn closed his eyes a moment, looking old and worn and unhappy. "Strength calls to strength, Harry. It pools and gathers and swells. Some destiny rests on you. My hope lies in you realizing it, whatever it is, that you point your strength at it and overcome. My hope is Daphne, and Astoria."

I sat, speechless for a score of minutes. "You... you would put them on the line, over _hope_?"

"No," he countered, a thread of anger at my accusation. "I would put myself on the line. For them, I only want the best; an open promise for the future."

"Why me, then?" I asked again, uncomprehending.

Glenn Greengrass came, knelt down before me and put a hand on either of my shoulders. He stared into my eyes with such a frank and earnest belief, it nearly hurt. "Because you will win. Because you will win."

–

Perhaps it wasn't the most tactful thing to reply with, but I could honestly think of no other response. "Are you daft?"

Laughing, Greengrass sat back on the floor, and I realized with a jolt, that the man was drunk. Looking to one of the bottles of sherry, I noted it was easily over half empty already, and recalling when I had joined him... he had obviously begun some time before I arrived. "Perhaps," he hedged, shrugging. "Evie says I am. That this is a fool's errand. Perhaps it is."

"You... intended on me falling for your daughter?" I asked, foregoing any tact. "You set us both up, in hopes we'd get close, and that... that what? What do you gain?"

Shaking his head, Glenn made his way back to a chair, dropping his glass onto the table with a heavy 'thunk'. "Are you happy with this world, Mr. Potter?"

Greengrass' changes in direction during our conversation were dizzying. At times I frankly wondered if I should just call Gally or his wife and hope he was more coherent another day. Still, this was a shining opportunity to learn things the man would otherwise not allow... with a start, I realized that may very well be the point. Glenn wasn't a foolish man, nor was he prone to excesses, that I'd seen.

This in mind, I regarded my host evenly, before heaving a sigh. "No. I'm not happy with it. It robbed me of a childhood, my godfather of more than a decade of his life and sanity, my parents their lives... and it suffers fools to lead." Standing, I refilled my own glass, suddenly feeling an aching burn in my head that just gnawed at me. "So, to answer your question," throwing back the alcohol, I cough, wheeze, and catch a stilling breath. "No. I'm not happy with it."

"Do you realize, that what Voldemort intends, is to remake Britain in his idea? Before his temporary banishment, his views were... frankly, revolutionary.

"Oh, they weren't new ideas," he clarified, leaning back and closing his eyes, content to tell his tale. "Traditionalist ideas. Wizards before muggles, pure blood before thin. Things like the old Inquisitions of the Spanish may seem long ago and far away to muggles, who live maybe for seventy, eighty years, but when we can double those lifespans, it brings such things home." Chuckling darkly, Glenn shook his head, "No, we have long memories. So many things changed this last century. Muggles did so much. They outstripped us wholly," bitterness crept into the man's voice, here. "The Moon. Can you believe it? Flying. Diving into the depths that we can only imagine. They can even make creatures of their own now. Like Chimeras, pieces from this and that.

"And the wars," going still, Glenn sighed, slumping. "Mr. Potter – Harry – I am no fool. I know what will happen if Voldemort wins. It will not be the dawn of a new age for wizarding kind. It will be the dawn of our apocalypse."

I wonder how much of this is due to drink, and how much is his frank belief. "What do you mean? It would be stupid of him to destroy that which he wants to rule over."

"Oh no," the man amended, "He was no fool. Scary brilliant. Quite the charming, charismatic leader in fact. But he hated, and that hatred blinded him, I have to think."

Greengrass went on to tell me stories of death and destruction, at the hands of the more militant Death Eaters. Tests, he claimed, on what he could get away with, pushing at the boundaries of what would come after. "And in the end? I think he realized what so many of us refuse to. Fear. It can control us, even when we don't know what causes it. He could slay an entire village of muggles – what would our Ministry do? Nothing. Cover it up. Obliviate. Adhere to the Statutes. Why? Because they didn't want to be next. What would the Crown do? Send investigators, send police... all which would accomplish nothing, except put them on edge. Chip away at that wall between us."

"But, if Fudge actually spoke to the Prime Minister, or the Crown – whoever it is he deals with – then the two powers could coordinate."

I was put aback by Glenn's laughter, "Harry! You expect a _wizard_, a wizard who bullied his way through the mire of the Ministry to the head of it, to entreat to _muggles_? Fudge would rather give you an Order of Merlin for calling him an idiot!" His laughter ebbed, died down and settled to a sigh. "We are proud, Harry. Too proud to see the threat there. Voldemort cannot pull punches anymore, or he'll loose more face. You've defied and bested him too many times.

"He has to strike, and when he does so, it won't be lightly. Otherwise he'll loose what support he has, or can gain." Grimly, my host continued, "And that will be his blindness. He will eventually go too far. Something will break in the muggle's tolerance and ability to disbelieve in us. And then? _We will end_."

My mouth was dry, and I didn't really like the angry buzz in my head, so took another drink. "I can't be that bad."

Greengrass snorted. "World War Two. The bombing of Hiroshima," the man pointed out, and my eyes widened. "It wasn't against a magical location. Purely muggle vs. muggle aggression. However, there was a heavily warded district within the blast range. It was scoured, obliterated," the man mumbled, a haunted look in his eyes. "The wards were useless. How can they not be? What kind of power could resist something like that? Nothing we know, that's for certain.

"Maybe they won't use those hellfire bombs on us, but imagine, Harry," the man went on, swirling another glassful of sherry. "Imagine the outcry. Centuries of us, obliviating, hiding, sometimes preying on, disregarding them. Using them. How much hate do you think they can bring to bear? More than Voldemort could withstand? He doesn't have a monopoly on it. One country will tell another, and another. Proof will be submitted. The veil between us and them will be torn away, and then what?"

With a grim smile, Glenn toasted as I threw back my sherry, ignoring its acid burn. "Dear god."

He snorted, "I doubt he or she or whatever cares. But feel free to pray."

The alcohol loosened my thoughts, something I wasn't prepared for. Sure, I had about as much experience with drink as I did girls, so color me naïve if you like. "So, this is why you wanted me."

"You will be a hero," Greengrass cheered, albeit quietly. "With power akin to Dumbledore's own behind you. The recognition of your deeds, paving ways at your feet. Even among muggles, you'll have respect and a place, if you treat Newcastle kindly, and make the proper inroads via your Peerage."

It sounded good. It sounded _really_ good. "I could..."

Nodding, laughing, Greengrass nodded. "You could. What? Who knows! Does it matter? No! _You. Could_."

Heady. Intoxicating, in ways the alcohol wasn't. Greengrass wasn't pulling any punches here, and I was reeling. "All I have to do is beat him."

Another laugh rang out from Glenn, "All? Hardly." Standing unsteadily, the man clapped, summoning Gally. "Er. Gally?" The diminutive little horror nodded, ears making slapping sounds against her head. "More sherry. Quickly." I realized with a start we were halfway done with the other bottle. When did that happen?

We sat and waited for the return of the elf, drifting back on the currents of our conversation, "So what else will I need?" I asked, warming to the subject.

"Esteem," Greengrass replied, counting out points on fingers he squinted at. "If the wizarding world doesn't respect you, it'll be an uphill battle. They may even take you for another Dark Lord, but in the end, maybe that's for the best."

I nearly spat my sherry at that. "What? You can't be serious."

"I am," he insisted. "Think on it – Establish yourself as a _pro tem_ dictator, knowing magical Britain would never follow your ideals. Ally yourself with the Crown, putting wizards at their mercy, promising an end to the madness against muggles," grinning madly, the man threw his hands – and by association, his sherry – wide, "You could even frankly just lie to the Crown, and paint the Dark Lord as the head of the insurgent faction, the one responsible for all our trespasses. Aim them at him, and sit back. The threat of the entire press of muggle Britain coming down on them would cow any rebellion, till you set up a system of government to enforce a fair and moral rule."

"Merlin," I murmured, shaking my head. I didn't know if the man was mad or inspired. "It's like... Voldemort only _backwards_." Snorting at the idea, we shared a long laugh, and I was wondering where the elf and sherry were. My glass was nearly empty.

Greengrass cleared the tears from his eyes, smiling and leaning back. "No. It won't be easy. You'll need help, and that's why I approached you. I saw potential, and I want to see how far you can go. I want to be the one to help. I want the Greengrass name to be there next to Potter when the rolls are called, and the new order begins."

Ambition in spades, I thought, whistling lowly. "So, that's why you put me with Daphne."

"She's a fine girl," Glenn sighed, his happy expression falling. "I worry about her. I worry she'll get pulled into the madness that was Voldemort's ideas." Growling, the man seemed lost in thought a moment, before throwing his glass with some force into the fireplace. "Nott and his damn contract. Stupid boy had to whine to his father over my daughter, as if she were some trophy! Pushing a contract on us... denying it would be as bad as waving Dumbledore's flag in Diagon!" Greengrass sneered at the idea, pacing about like a caged animal. "No. We sat on it. There are periods, allowances for time that are usual in these things. I will take that up to a limit, to make sure she's safe."

"What did you hope I could do?" I asked quietly, awed by the man's fervor. I'd never in my life seen this kind of devotion to family, and frankly, it was both terrible and inspiring. For someone to care and fight this hard for me... The idea simply caused me to go very still, and very warm. Was this what true family was?

"Hope," the word came out of Glenn's mouth simply, but I felt he put his entire being into those four letters. "Even... even without the bond of anything more than friendship between you, I would risk much, just for that. I've seen how you defend your friends, Harry. Was it selfish of me, to put you in such a position in the hope you would see my daughters as such?

"You have defied him. You will win. If anyone could keep them safe, it is you," he concluded softly.

Here was this man, who out of hope and a belief in me – _me_, the media's scapegoat, the Ministry's most hated son – risked everything. If Voldemort, the Ministry, or Dumbledore learned of what had happened or his plans if he truly did feel the way he said, any one of them could destroy him and his family. I respected Glenn Greengrass for that. That belief, in me. It at once humbled and empowered me and I felt... good. Better than good. I felt _vindicated_.

He was right, of course. I've proven it, for good or ill, over and over. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll keep them safe. I don't know what Daphne is to me, or me to her, but she's..." I swallowed, shrugging. Words didn't seem to want to obey me, so I didn't force them. "I'll keep them safe, Glenn."

A soft clearing of a throat startled us both, and as one we turned to see a stony-faced Daphne, Mrs. Greengrass with a slight frown and the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and an inscrutable Astoria standing at the doors to the study.

"Sees, theys is soused," the chirpy, far too pleased with itself voice rang out, from the general location of Daphne's knees. Again, Glenn and I turned our eyes as one, and in another show of solidarity, swore, "Godsforsaken elves!" at the same time.

Gally, displaying sense so far unseen by elf-kind at least to my eyes, fled with a shrill shriek and a pop.

Walking in a calm and stately way to Glenn's side, Mrs. Greengrass took his hand, and helped him to his feet. "I'm afraid Mr. Potter, that I'll be requiring my husband for the rest of the afternoon. If you will excuse us?"

I stammered an affirmation, as the two adults and Astoria left the room. Swallowing nervously, I noted Daphne closing, locking and regarding the doors silently for some time, her back to me. "I don't know what to think right now," the young woman murmured, voice barely reaching me. "My own father..." sighing, she turned and stalked to a seat to my left, closer than the large chair that her father had vacated.

Fighting down my nervousness, I cleared my throat. "How much did you hear?"

Daphne reached up and rubbed idly at her temple. "Since he began blathering on about hope the first time. Gally fetched mother, who brought 'Tori, around when he was talking about setting you up as some kind of overlord."

Hearing her put it in those terms, I had to admit, didn't seem as flattering. Unsure what else to say, or what I could say, in light of what she had heard, I simply murmured an apology.

"Don't, you... I don't know what you're sorry for."

I could think of a few things. "For... complicating your life, for one," I tilted my head, squinting a the light as it painted phantom angels in my eyes. Maybe I need to clean my glasses...

"My life was complicated before, Potter," Daphne replied testily. "Don't flatter yourself," despite the venom her words could carry however, the last three were quiet.

Reaching up to rub at my nose where my glasses rested, I hazarded, "I'm sorry for walking in on that argument, yesterday. It wasn't my business."

Daphne paled, and studiously began sorting the hem of her blouse where it lay on her lap. "That... that's alright."

"No," I asserted, "It wasn't. I shouldn't have lingered-"

"Stop," she blurted out, looking up. Whatever I was going to say died on my lips at the intensity of her look. I don't know what she was trying to say, with her eyes, but it undid whatever tightness had settled in my chest over this Montague thing, this argument I was never meant to hear. "Just... I wish you could forget hearing that, it had nothing to do with you," she muttered, cursing quietly. Standing up and pacing much like her father, she walked a well-worn path from one wall to another, pausing to pick up a book at the end. "People do things, sometimes, not because they want to, but because there's a goal beyond that must be reached."

Looking down at the book in her hands, she grimaced and simply let it fall to the floor. "Shakespear. Lovely," she sniped. Turning back to me and my bemusement at her. "Did father tell you about the contract Nott sent him?" I nodded, and she seemed to recollect herself. "What father doesn't know, is that I'm not as useless as he imagines."

"I can't see him thinking that," I shot back, remembering how he spoke of her, earning me a small smile.

"No, perhaps not," she allowed, shrugging. "But there is a lot he doesn't know. I'm quite good at memory charms, for instance," the young witch almost idly explained, causing my eyes to widen. "Oh, father isn't as subtle as he likes to believe himself to be. Our dealings with muggles have been somewhat... strained, at times. I've often had to clean up the mess."

I considered the young woman before me, recalling the almost idle ease she cast the confounding charm with. "You've been doing them for some time, haven't you?"

Smirking, Daphne nodded slowly. "Astoria... she forgives me. Now," the witch explained, and my eyes flew wide. "Yes. I tested on my own sister... and nearly broke her. Her 'natural' Occlumency talent? A reaction to all my trial and error."

"Merlin," I breathed, observing her warily. "Have you ever-"

"No," she immediately denied, shaking her head vigorously. "I've never used them on you, or my parents. I only use them when I absolutely have to. The mistakes I made with Tori weren't worth it. I won't do that again. But I am talented with mental magics. Not so much with other things," shrugging, she took her seat again, posture still somewhat stiff from her damning revelation. "Montague thinks I am his girlfriend, for instance."

My mouth worked silently for a moment, before I leaned back and laughed. Oh, it felt dirty, because I remember the potential mess Lockhart could have made of things, me and Ron specifically, but I laughed nonetheless. "So... it's an act? A cover?"

"I need my parents to believe it, so they will tell Nott of my behavior, backing up Paul and his family," she explained, an expression reminiscent of the one I recalled Narcissa Malfoy having, setting her lips in a sneer of distaste. "Father would do something drastic and damning after the deadline on Nott's contract. I plan on making them retract it before then."

Finally seeing her plan, at least seeing what she explained, I winced, and despite her frown, poured myself another drink. "But... what if Montague gets the same idea? And what about once school begins? The rumors?"

Daphne shook her head. "Paul's family is too low of station to offer a betrothal contract to me. He is, however, a decent dueler."

"Dueler? Wait." I bolted my sherry and stared at the dark-haired witch as her smile grew absolutely predatory. "You expect Nott to confront him."

"One of them will likely be... removed from the picture. Considering Nott is about as powerful magically as a Niffler," she picked at her nails idly. "Montague is no threat. But he does make a reasonable tool."

Frankly, I'm a bit stunned. "I don't know whether to be impressed or appalled," I mutter, eying my glass shrewdly, then the decanter. "And the rumors?"

With a wave, twist and snap of her wand, a pale white nimbus settled around her. "Virtue testing charm." She made a face, before rolling her eyes. "Rather, physical virtue."

"So after Montague goes telling everyone you're... involved, Nott flies off the handle and cancels the contract, challenges him, Montague offs Nott," I paused the languor of my thoughts not letting me connect things so quickly. "Then, once Montague starts putting on airs, you disclaim it all, and make him look like he's utterly mad."

Smirking, the witch sketched a slight curtsey. "You are rather quick, when you're inclined."

One thing still bothered me though, and I was frankly worried that I'd not like the answer. Still, the alcohol burning its way through my veins assured me it would be fine, and I was inclined to listen. "Why tell me though? If you can't trust your parents, then why me?"

She shot me a glare, but looked away shortly after meeting my eyes. Heaving a sigh, she picked up her father's discarded glass and downed its contents. "Because I'd rather someone know, and if I can't trust _you_, who can I trust? I need my parents to believe the lie. Otherwise this all falls apart. Besides, I think you can help."

It was simple, and made sense. I had enough Occlumency that my mind would be a safe vault, and frankly, I may not like what she was doing, but I liked Daphne a lot more than Nott and Montague.

Bloody neanderthals couldn't play real Quidditch worth spit, after all.

"Alright," I agreed, a tension in my shoulders easing. "I'll keep your secret. But how can I help?"

"I never had any doubts," Daphne countered archly, a gleam in her eye. "As for helping... you can be my insurance.

"I'm not ignorant of where you two are going with things," she murmured, watching the play of amber drops race around the bottom of the crystal glass. "Father has your guardianship, correct?" I nodded, a thread of anxiety working its way up my spine. "I knew what he was planning, with you and I, when he dragged me along with him to get you.

"'Let her see how he's lived,'" she mocked in a rather convincing imitation of her father's voice. "'She's not heartless,' bah. No, I'm not, but I also have _some_ taste, thank you very much."

"Hey! I happen to be somewhat fanciable, you know."

Daphne raised a manicured brow. "Oh?"

I sat back with a huff. "Well, so I was told."

"It takes all kinds," the witch murmured with a roll of her eyes. "Regardless, I do happen to agree with some of my father's points."

I was pondering what this vague idea of insurance was, when she said this. "Which parts?"

Breathing out a slow sigh, Daphne drew her legs up beneath her, "For one, that Voldemort is going to push too hard. I think that almost inevitable, from what I've read regarding his first uprising. His views put him in far too much conflict with the parts of our world that contact the mundane one for it to go unnoticed."

What followed was the two of us downing the rest of a bottle of sherry, though if I were honest, it was her two glasses, to my two thirds. I recanted what Glenn and I had discussed, mostly explaining the details surrounding my inheritance. Feeling it important, I touched on my Barony in Collingwood, and how it was tied to the family seat at the Wizengamot. Then I explained the situation regarding Malfoy.

"Oh that _had _to irk you. Imagine Draco in the Great Hall, thanking you for so kindly abdicating your Wizengamot seat to his father," her smirk became mocking, "Because, as we know, _everything_ revolves around that boy's father."

The growl I loosed caused her to laugh musically, "I'll sell every share, put loans against every property in my name to keep that feckless little prick from touching my heritage," I snarled, noting her sudden lack of humor. Reigning in my anger, I continued, if somewhat heatedly.

I briefed her on the thoughts her father had, on how to capitalize on the war, once it was over. She seemed incredulous at how flippantly I regarded dealing with Voldemort. I was still riding the high from Greengrass' belief and faith in me though, and didn't linger on that topic.

I would win. And that was that.

"My father is a romantic. This is just the sort of... utterly unbelievable situation he would adore one of his children being in," she muttered darkly. "And I know he's serious, which just makes it more... infuriating."

With the last of the sherry halfway to my lips, I paused, "I thought you agreed with him?"

Rolling her eyes, Daphne regarded me as if looking at a particularly dim child, "I agreed with using you for your political power, to secure my family. I agree with using you as a counter to any other stupid contracts." Here she tossed back her hair, lips thinning. "Insurance. We will sign a contract of our own. We will not date, or finalize it, but it will be on record and take precedence over any others."

The glass in my hands slipped free and fell with a chiming crash to the floor. "Absolutely not."

"Oh?" Leaning forward, Daphne made a great show of proving, yes, she was quite female, if the view down the low neck of her dress was to be believed. "And why not? You did agree to help me."

"I agreed to keep your plan to myself," I spat back, wrenching my eyes up to her own, denying her that lever against me. "I didn't agree to... _marry_ you."

Daphne scoffed at that. "And I'm not asking," she countered, leaning back with a frown. "The contract needs only declare intent. It precludes any others, and keeps us both safe."

It was my turn to laugh, "_Safe?_ What do I need a contract like that to protect me from? Your father doesn't seem inclined to force the issue, and if he does, I'll turn on him like a rabid dog," I snapped, standing and pacing toward the fireplace. "How quickly do you think Dumbledore would annul his efforts? I bet he could find a way," I mused, rocking back on my heels. Daphne's eyes spoke volumes of murder, at my threat. "And the Delacours? Unless I'm mistaken, they owe me more than Glenn." Smirking, I leaned back against the stone, "Gabrielle may be young, but she'll grow up in time. And you're no Veela, Miss Greengrass."

"Son of a bitch," she cursed, slamming her glass down on the table. "You think you're the only one who can make threats? I'll see your Dumbledore, and raise you a Dark Lord, Potter," rising as well, she met my incensed glare with one of her own. "I may not agree with his methods, I may hate what he stands for, but I'm not above selling you like a gaudy bauble for my family's well-being. You think we haven't considered what to do, if he did win? How far away we could run, and how deep we could hide? You'll buy us that chance."

We stood and glared at one another for a handful of seconds, before I felt the first bubble of laughter break my lips. Within a minute, we were both laughing, and I can only guess she shared my reason. Here we were, children, threatening each other with a vastly more dangerous version of "I'll tell mommy!". Maybe we _were_ both serious. How far back under Dumbledore's thumb would I go, to dodge another with aims to control me? Would she really make a deal with the proverbial devil? It was just silly, for us to play that game.

I had to think so. Letting it become serious was madness. She reclaimed her glass, emptying the rest of the decanter into it before patting a spot by her on the settee. Ambling over and taking a seat, she shoved the glass into my hands, "Alright. Now that we've gotten that out of our systems," I nearly snorted brandy at her mimicry of McGonagall. This girl had some talent. Daphne sketched a slight bow, before continuing.

"What about a compromise?" Considering her earnest if somewhat nervous expression, I motioned for her to go on. "As long as I'm a lever against my father, these things will continue. Holding your regency, he'll come under more fire. Right now, were sitting on the fence – we aren't backing Dumbledore, and we aren't backing You-Know-Who. That's why these things are dangerous."

Mulling that over, I nodded hesitantly. "Turning them down out of principle shows a bias. You may be neutral, working for your own ends, but to someone outside it just looks like you're against them."

"Exactly," the witch beamed. "We're content to play merchant, and not get involved. It just so happens that unlike normal business, these people kill you for the discount."

I tried not to laugh, and failed. This earned me a pinch, which resulted in us being back in separate chairs. "Anyway," I huffed dryly, rubbing at my abused arm. "What's your compromise?"

Licking her lips, Daphne looked away for a moment. Her gaze settled on the bookshelves, and stayed there through her explanation, "Benefits. You sign the contracts, but we don't finalize them. They stay there as insurance. I get security for me and my family, and you get..." trailing off, she shrugged.

It took me a count of ten to understand what she meant. "What?! You can't be serious. You're what – _fifteen?_"

"Look, Potter," she snapped, dragging a haunted gaze my way, "This isn't my first choice. That would be forcing you into it with the Imperius and then obliviating you, but frankly, you proved quite well that won't work." Drawing up her knees, Daphne settled back into the crook between the back and arm of her couch. "Frankly, I don't have a lot to offer," she noted quietly. "I'm just the daughter of a pureblood family. We're commodities. Points on which to build alliances, secure political power, and assure bloodlines.

"Nott wanted me because he's a lech and has been fixated on me since my first year," she growled. "It just happens his father is an open sympathizer for You-Know-Who, and that our decision would get put under too much scrutiny."

I rubbed a hand over my face, upsetting my glasses. Putting the sherry glass down before I let it shatter too, I leaned forward and just stared at the witch across from me, thinking. I didn't put it past her to actually obliviate me after she got her part of the deal – that threat was always going to factor in between us, until I got an oath. That was an option, as well. I didn't like her allusion to her own worth though. Was that how pureblood society really saw their daughters? Despicable. Shortly, she began to fidget and glare.

"Daphne," I began, thinking back. There were also other things to consider, as well in this. "You mentioned Nott could retract the contract?" Her dark hair bobbed with her nod. "Alright. So that means I could as well?"

Biting at her lip, Daphne nodded. "If we put in that clause. Usually if we agree, but do not finalize, it would take a joint retraction. Both sides."

I decided to make her squirm. It was the least I could do, considering. "Well, you do realize that if I agree to this, your virtue charm defense would be moot."

The look of shock on her face was shortly followed by a fierce flush. That was followed by curses – literally. I was still laughing as the stuffing from my chair was being blown about the room. "You _prick!_ You're supposed to be noble and agree to it on principle, not... uaaagh!"

I cast a minor shield and stuck my head out, "Come on, Daphne, you mean you don't fancy me?"

I ducked back laughing again, as her growl was punctuated by two piercing curses, three inches over my head puncturing the back of my chair. Alright, best to calm this down before I get injured. "Hey! Cease fire!" I peeked out of the corner, and got a stinging hex in the face, but that was all. Rubbing at my cheek, I glared at the witch. "I'll agree to a compromise – that doesn't endanger your virtue – but I have a few conditions of my own."

The angry look on her face evaporated, replaced by look of cool calculation. "What conditions?"

"Oaths," I said bluntly. "That you'll never obliviate me without my consent, and that if I decide to terminate the contract, you will as well – without question."

She bit her lip, looking down for a moment in thought. "What's to keep you from just doing so if we get mad at each other?"

I smirked. "You, not making me mad."

"Slim chance of that," she retorted, crossing her arms. "We can't go fifteen minutes without quarreling. I want an Oath as well."

"Alright, I'll consider it, but you do realize you're the one benefiting from this?" Shaking off the haze that kept trying to cloud my thoughts from the alcohol, I nodded, "So, what Oath?"

Daphne looked conflicted a moment, before nodding apparently to herself. "Think of it like a guarantee, in what you agreed to with my father. That... ah."

"Hard thing to word? 'That I will protect you'?"

"How does one make an Oath like that?"

With a sigh, I shook my head. "It would be like a ward, Daphne. There's no way I could fulfill an Oath like that. If you fell, and I was nearby and _could_ help you, but just didn't because I didn't think to cast this spell, or throw someone under you, then I would break it. It's too broad."

Lips thinning unhappily, she nodded, understanding. "Alright. No Oath then."

"Will a promise suffice?" She raised a brow, but I held up a hand. "I take my promises seriously. Maybe wizards depend on Oaths to make them keep their word, but I can do that on my own. If I promise to try and protect you, then I mean it. I will."

Shaking her head, a sad smile bent Daphne's lips, "But where would you draw the line? Would you defend me, over Granger? Would you stand before me, if You-Know-Who walked in that door right now, and demanded you hand me over or he'd kill one of your friends?" I saw what she meant, and could understand why she'd hesitate in relying on such a thing. What was a promise worth if it had so many things that could twist it, denature its purpose?

The only answer I could give, I did, "You'll just have to trust me."

Her incredulous look halted, and her mouth shut quietly. There were a range of emotions flickering behind her eyes, that finally settled on a grim acceptance. "Alright. I'll try. You... do have an alarming tendency to do the right thing."

I snorted at that. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

"This makes me wonder, you know," her voice was low, unsure. "My father is gambling a lot on you. Everything, in fact, on that he thinks you can defeat You-Know-Who." She stated, tone flat, eyes showing nothing. "Why? Why does he think that?"

I rose unsteadily, and moved to stand before her, cursing sherry and house elves in my mind all the while I stumbled across the deep carpets. Apparently dodging curses took less coordination than walking in a line. With a sense of deja vu, I unbuttoned my cuffs, and rolled up my sleeve. As she looked on, I bared the scar from the ritual. "This is where he took my blood. He called all his marked Death Eaters. He and I dueled, but I didn't die. His Death Eaters could not stop me from escaping with Cedric's body.

Taking my wand, I focused on the feeling of vindication that flooded me earlier. That someone believed in what I could do, for my own merits. I murmured the Patronus charm, and Prongs materialized with a faint sizzle. "When the Dementors attacked me and Sirius by the lake, I drove them off," I let her reach out, her hand passing though Prongs' side with a crackle of restrained energy. Daphne giggled, then clamped a hand over her mouth, glaring. I let me focus relax, and Prongs faded into an indistinct mist.

"This," I pointed at the basilisk fang scar, then the showed the other side of my arm, letting her see how it had pierced me clean through. "Was a basilisk fang. He left an image, an echo of himself in a cursed book, that nearly killed someone, draining their life. He could cast, he could command the beast." I met her eyes, and she flinched away. "I lived. It didn't."

Lastly, I held up my hands, before her face, though I didn't crowd her. I let her lean forward, looking at the callouses, the scars, the wrinkles between my fingers and across my palm, waiting on my next declaration. "Quirrell. He had the soul of Voldemort in him, riding him like some kind of parasite," She looked up with wide eyes, and I could practically hear her memories, of Dumbledore announcing the stuttering professor's sudden absence. "With these hands, I burned him to ash."

Whatever black muse had kept me going, fled me then in the wake of all those memories. The alcohol swirled and surged up to my head, making me dizzy and lightheaded. Feeling like my strings were cut, I slumped to the floor, an arm thrown across the seat beside her, my head resting on it as I just sat, and thought deeply of nothing.

I don't know if I blacked out for a moment, or just let that nothing inside swell up and take me for a moment. When my awareness sharpened again, there was a small, warm, delicate hand brushing my hair away from my scar. Daphne's voice was low, quiet, but she made sure I could hear her, "Killing Curse. You lived, and threw him from his body, or killed him... no one knows. You survived... he was banished."

"How do you keep on," she asked quietly, but I had no words to answer. I was weary – body, bone, soul. "Anyone else would have just... I don't know. I couldn't be this strong." I just shook my head, as if to deny her words. "You don't think you're strong?" There was the hint of a smile, in her voice after that, "Oh, I see. Stubborn. You're simply too stubborn to die, is that it?"  
I snorted, and managed a single laugh, before closing my eyes again. Her hand was still doing something with my hair – I don't care what. It was comfortable, and I wasn't going anywhere. The last thing I remember hearing, before that comfortable numbness claimed me, was her whisper. "What am I going to do with you, Hero?"

–

"Nnnnngulach-" I leaned over the side of the bed, as my stomach tried to push its way out through my mouth by sheer force and determination. The hammering in my head was a sick ache, that ran from my eyes to spine and back again, bringing echoes of its own infernal tempo with it each pass. Every circuit to my head reverberated through my stomach, making it wrench and spasm.

"Oh, Merlin," I groaned, hanging my head as spit, bile, and what looked like pink foam dripped from my slack lips. "Someone A.K. me and just get it over with."

There was a tisking sound behind me that made me think of large, dry, snapping branches next to my ear. "My my, Mr. Potter, you really need to work on holding your drink."

Mrs. Greengrass, lovely woman that she was, could go jump in front of a speeding bus that moment and I don't think I'd blink. "Urgh," I replied gamely, slumping so that the ache in my shoulders would pass.

It was a vain hope.

"You should know," the woman remarked, coming around to the side of the bed I was currently hanging off of, "that normally, we don't abide guests that have such bad manners."

Any coherent reply I could have made was washed away by the unholy ache that resided in my skull, bashing around like a bludger in a bottle. Instead, I gurgled something inane, hoping the vile woman would just go away. There was a whisk of air, and the mess before me was vanished, leaving only clean, neat smelling carpet. It made my stomach churn all over again. Then the bloody wench levitated me upright. "There we are. My, you and my husband really do get along well. He's just as bad... lucky for you, my eldest is rather forgiving."

I recalled her words later. Currently, I was wondering what condition they'd pen on my death certificate, as the room's single light speared into my eyes and bored its way slowly through my skull. "Liquefied brain, leaked out of ears," seemed a fair guess.

A few more wand flicks, and my body was held rigid, and a cold sort of pressure sat against my stomach. "I have to remove the anti-nausea charm once you start swallowing. Understood?" I nodded, relishing in the momentary peace that my gut was currently in. "This is a hangover potion. It tastes..." pausing the woman gave me a wicked smile, reminiscent of Astoria. "Unique. Consider it incentive to avoid needing another dose some day."

Hangover potion. It could have been distilled Voldemort sweat and I would have happily guzzled it, as long as it banished the personal hell I was in. I almost did an about-face though, once the foul goop hit my tongue.

The charm came off, and I nearly spat what was in my mouth back into the goblet on reflex, but a supreme force of will and a hand to my own throat kept the concoction down. One swallow dulled the riot in my stomach enough to let me drink the rest, each gulp relieving some layer of torture that I was in.

By the time the foul stuff was gone, I felt moderately human again. Beaten half to death, but human. Panting lightly, I looked up with watery eyes to my hostess, "That... was from sherry?"

"A bottle of sherry, maybe more," the woman corrected, casting this and that charm at me, a rather interesting experience. By the time she was done, my slept-in clothes were cleaned if not wrinkle free, my breath was minty, my eyes clear (clearer, anyway), I smelled fresh, and my outlook on the world not quite so apocalyptic.

God _damn_ I love magic.

But I'm staying the bleeding hell away from the drink, for the foreseeable future.

My mind replayed the conversation – one sided as it was – from the last few minutes back, and I frowned. "Daphne made the potion?"

With a cheery nod the witch's mother affirmed it so, "Yes, she was up early, figuring you and her father would rather not be mistaken for Inferi and incinerated by Astoria. She has a phobia for corpses."

I shook my head slowly, closing my eyes. "I... have no idea what to say to that."

"Nothing at all will do," the older witch chirped, her bubbling cheer cloying in the room like the smell of candy. I hate morning people.

I'm not precisely sure what it was that happened, after I passed out last night, but whatever it was, I was afraid. Standing with a slight wobble, I found my glasses, my wand, and the door, in that order. "Well, er. I'm just going to go say thank you to her then."

Humming as I sped off, Mrs. Greengrass waved.

Walking and clean air helped me get my mind back in gear, and as I sped down the stairs for the kitchens, I recalled the previous night. With a sense of dread, I wondered if Daphne would think me insane. "Holy shit," I muttered, banging my head into a wall. I had agreed to enter a betrothal contract with her.

On top of that, I had to wonder if Mr. Greengrass would laugh and rib me endlessly, for the preposterous things we discussed. He couldn't have been serious, could he? And then his reaction to what Daphne and I agreed on... maybe it was a hallucination.

He had his hopes – I had mine.

Did he really think I could not only beat Voldemort, but then go on to literally remake the magical world, off the momentum of such a thing?

Was he seriously trying to set me and Daphne up with one another, even if it was in a weird passive kind of way? I stopped on the bottom of the landing, brow furrowed, as I considered that.

If I were honest with myself, that did have the best chance of success. My reasons yesterday and the night before as I tried to understand my thoughts for the witch affirmed it. He gave us a chance to get to know one another, and the opportunity to grow together. I wasn't forced to love her by potion or spell, there was no trickery with contracts, and he seemed genuinely honest about being content with us being friends – or at least having a bond of some kind that would urge me to protect her, and Astoria. If we came to our own agreement in regard to a contract, it meant nothing. I made sure of that, with the Oath I'd want included. I even turned down 'benefits'. Not that she was serious, after all, but my head was in the right place.

Perhaps I should be irritable for him forcing us together to learn Occlumency, but we did help each other, and it worked to be a positive. It wasn't like I was forced to work with those that would actively sabotage me, like Pansy, or Draco. So, Daphne and I could work together, and despite arguing on occasion, I could see it becoming friendship. I did, genuinely, want to help her, after all.

I had to give Glenn some credit. The man had talent.

Reaching the kitchen, I was somewhat surprised to see Daphne, sitting with a cold plate of food before her, staring distantly out of the window that faced east. The sun was shining brightly, and it did interesting things to the blue in her eyes, leeching the tone from them and leaving almost a pale silver.

She started, jumping a bit in place as I scuffed a foot. "Oh! Damnit, Potter, stop sneaking around like a thief!"

I couldn't help myself – I started laughing. It was just such a relief that things weren't awkward between us. Yes, she had become part of my daily routine. No, I find I didn't mind that at all. Yesterday didn't change a thing that mattered. Leaning back against the kitchen wall across from her, I kept on till she was glaring, her eyes narrow and her face flush. "Good morning, Daphne," I greeted with more warmth than usual.

The witch stared, blinking at me once or twice before shaking her head slowly, "Just like my father. Least this one has reason to be touched in the head," she muttered, shooting a pointed look at my scar.

I snickered, before seeing a furtive little figure, trying not to be seen nearby. Gally the elf was doing the morning dishes, her toga looking rather more lived-in than usual today. I shushed Daphne, as I slinked over and loomed over the elf as she worked, her attention fixed on the dishes she was cleaning. I noted her shooting me little glares when she thought I wasn't looking, and crept up between them. In my best Hagrid impersonation, I boomed, "Godsforsaken elves!"

There was a muted shriek and the cracking pop of an elf fleeing, before I collapsed into snickering laughs.

My vengeance sated, I turned sharply and saluted my companion, as she rolled her eyes and murmured something about mental lions. Slipping into the chair across from Daphne, I got a stern poke in the forehead (not the scar). "No more drinking, Mr. Potter."

I chuckled, nodding quite seriously. "No worries there. I never want to wake up like that again."

Smirking, the witch waggled a fork at me. "Good. Because next time I'll take advantage of your state, strip you down, and sell the pictures to every publication in Europe," she threatened, causing me to pale.

"You'd... you wouldn't really..."

"Try me, Hero."

There was a slight, unfamiliar smile curving her lips. I rather liked it. Instead of continuing our verbal fencing, I helped myself to a plate of the cold breakfast, and sat back down beside her. Daphne shot me a look, before shaking her head. "You realize my father wasn't joking, don't you?"

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. "He wasn't?"

Nodding, Daphne turned slightly in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "He confirmed it this morning, when I took him his hangover potion."

I swallowed thickly, mind racing. After a minute where I replayed the night in its totality again, I closed my eyes. "So that's why he wanted me to learn Occlumency."

"The fact he's conspiring to commit high treason, possibly even terrorism, and wants you as an accomplice?" Daphne speared on of my sausages, daintily snipping it in half with her teeth. "I would say that's definitely reason enough, considering he plans to do at least some of the work from the inside."

Laughing quietly, I had to agree. Fine reason indeed. "Well." Picking up my glass of juice, I held it up in a toast. Daphne quirked a brow, but followed suit. "Here's to the revolution."

Snorting back a laugh, the witch beside me rolled her eyes, "_Viva la Revolución!_" She countered, tapping her glass to mine. "Now, get me another sausage, Hero."

My face broke into a wide smile. "Yes dear."

She sputtered. I laughed. Everything was going to be alright.

–

Outline point: 2.D

A/N: Oh noes, a contract. I refer you to my profile, on how much your opinion matters.

Hearing a lot of whining regarding "Why didn't Harry resist" in chapter one. Why? Because the damn story would end there, or go into a lot of stupid convolutions resolving it. You write it. I'll call you unoriginal for using a typical _"Harry grows balls and starts acting like a miniature Moody out of the fucking blue"_ plotline. Seen them. This isn't it. Get over it, move on, or close the window. I don't have a gun to your head to read this, which is probably a good thing for most of you.


	8. Chapter 7

**Snakecharmer**

Chapter 7

Fear and Loathing, in Less Vagueness.

–

Looking back, I can say that the beginning of things truly changing began the day after my drunken binge with Glenn. Not just for his idea, but with a number of things, but those of course would come later.

Isn't that the way these things always start, though? Two or more men, talking, planning, railing against life, injustice, and the state of the world over drink? Maybe I'll write a book one day, about how wine and injustice are the fuels of revolution.

No rebellion began in an instant, however. I still had the remnants of a hangover, and a rather hacked off witch to deal with that morning before anything else could be done.

We made an uneasy peace over breakfast, reestablishing our usual roles – I think both of us were more than a little uncomfortable after all the vulnerability tossed about the night before. Unsure what to do with myself after mid morning, as Glenn had yet to make an appearance, I excused myself to the study.

I was only somewhat surprised that Daphne joined me, without comment. With the looming idea of a brewing revolution on our hands, neither of us really knew what to talk about, or for that matter, how to breach the subject. Unsure what else to do, I refined my mental landscape for a few hours. Off and on we spoke of things, trivial and otherwise.

I paid little real attention to this, till Daphne began speaking specifically about her father's ambitions. "I'm not sure how you, regardless of the madness with the Dark Lord and how you always seem to get by, are going to manage a revolution with my father."

Considering what I recalled of the previous night's drunken rambling, I had to agree. Oh, generalities were a given, but the process itself was an unknown. However, a few things stuck in my mind, "I don't think it's going to be something that has a simple solution."

"I'm glad at least you admit that," Daphne snorted, closing the book she was browsing. "If you had suggested simply displacing Fudge and rallying to oppose the Dark Lord, it would have confirmed the madness I suspect you suffer from."

Grinning cheekily, I replied, "I do not suffer, but revel in it." A coughed laugh was her only rebuttal. "But as for how, when, and all that, well... that's Glenn's forte, not mine."

"So, you are sold on the idea?"

Giving the question some thought, I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. More for my own reasons than just how it can help me with or deal with things after Voldemort though."

I had expected a snide remark about having reasons of my own, but instead that comment seemed to get Daphne's attention. "So, you do have ambitions. Tell me, what are these reasons you mention?"

Perhaps it was opening a can of worms I didn't want to, or showing my thoughts too quickly, but it was fast becoming clear that no matter how I went about things, I was going to be dealing with the Greengrass clan for some time to come. Glenn saw to that, and until such a time as I could turn things more in my favor... "Well, you know I've not really had the best experience with the magical world so far?"

"Rhetoric bores me. The point?"

Glaring, I bit out my reply, "You asked, I just wanted to be clear. Well, I can trace back all that to two issues," I explained. "One, the most difficult to fix I suppose is that the majority of wizarding kind, those I've seen at least, are lazy. They rely on magic for everything, and let themselves get lulled into complacency. If magic can't fix a problem, then they think it's impossible. When faced with someone more powerful, magically, they all but instinctively bow down. I may never get to 'fix' this, but maybe I can do something to shake it up. I don't know.

"The other issue? They're addicted to their entertainments." The last word left my lips with a fierce scowl, as I shook my head. "Don't you find it strange, that so many of the things wizarding society relies on for entertainment either happen to be nothing but lies, and not hard one's to see either, or prone to causing serious injury?"

My companion blinked a moment, her color rising in that warning shade that meant I'd insulted her, either directly or otherwise. "Let me be sure I heard you clearly. Are you saying that our society would willingly put up with a maniac like the Dark Lord, powerful though he may be, because it's more entertaining? Because we're _lazy?_"

"In a word, yes," I shrugged, checking the spine of the book in my hands. It was a rudimentary spell book, on household charms for the writer, it seemed. Things like ink drying, page sorting, and collating. How curious... "Look at _The Prophet_," I prompted. "If people really cared about the truth, they'd not read such garbage, when it's so obviously fabricated. But why upset things? The average wizard or witch doesn't care what's printed or what bend it takes – _because they aren't the focus!_"

Feeling my topic, one I was uniquely suited to speak on I felt, I continued, "They don't care who the paper hurts, as long as it entertains them. They don't care that the lies are just that, as long as the story is juicy enough. It's clear that the wizarding public is addicted to sensationalism. Look at quidditch, the Tri-wizard. It's all the same – but I don't think anyone can change that. Maybe, change how the media is regulated, that would work." Reaching up to run a hand through my hair, I try to put aside my growing anger, thinking on these things. They weren't new issues, or old, dull wounds. Last year really brought it all into focus, and I had Rita Skeeter to hang in effigy for it all. "Articles in _The Prophet_ aren't written to appeal to people's sense of truth, but to get a reaction, and as strong a one as possible. You have read it, correct?"

The same warning color rose further, and I wondered if I pushed her too far that time, "Yes, I grew up with it. Maybe that's why I consider myself a better judge of it."

"I don't think it does," I counter. "You're used to it – desensitized. To you, it's just how things are."

"Then maybe that's the point? That is how things are, why question it? So our newspaper belittled you, exaggerated things, printed suppositions rather than facts. What's so wrong with that?"

Sneering, Daphne sat back, letting her own book fall into her lap, "I suppose you'll compare it to some muggle paper, now?" Her latest declaration stalled me, as I was about to do exactly as she said. "Well, _we are not muggles_. You can't compare the two cultures so easily. Maybe you'd argue that wizards are archaic, lost in the past. Well, perhaps that's because _it works for us_. We don't need to be racing forward, taking up and discarding ideas that change the world every decade or three. What's wrong with that?"

The thing I really hated about Daphne sometimes, is how she could sit there, and undo most of my arguments, or at least hold her own when I felt like I was right. I was beginning to understand that unlike Glenn, she was a very solid supporter of wizarding tradition and culture, if not pureblood views, then the sanctity of the framework that it resided within. Oh he wanted change and to still have that to a degree I felt, from our talks, but more often than not, I got the feeling that if it weren't for some pressure the man kept on Daphne, she'd wash her hands of my presence and what it ultimately stood for altogether. For me being muggle-raised, it was frustrating to say the least, and considering my own history of being railroaded into things, the latter didn't make me any more comfortable.

"What's wrong with it?" I asked, a liberal note of incredulity in my voice. "You realize those lies make it possible for an idiot like Fudge to all but hand the country to Voldemort? If those lies targeted your family next, ruining them publicly and causing your parents, sister, entire name to be ostracized, would you see the problem then? How would your vaunted pureblood traditions serve you, as pariahs?" Blue eyes narrowed across from me, but I didn't pause to let her lash out with that acid tongue of her's, "Maybe you don't see the need, but comfortable there or not, the world around you has moved on. You're still _human_, if not muggle, and that makes you a part of the world's culture, whether you like it or not. Now, I'm not saying, like we talked about, running electricity into Hogwarts. I'm talking about recognizing damaging parts of your oh-so precious culture, and seeing them for what they are."

Visibly reigning in her ire, Daphne leaned forward and regarded me like a very irritating thorn she found in her shoe. "And you plan to do this? Open our eyes?"

"Perhaps," I replied with a shrug. "I probably can't do anything about what it is about wizardkind that makes them all bloodthirsty sycophants," I mutter darkly, as Daphne's eyes widened, but continued, "Here is where I see laziness becoming damning, though. Fudge."

Confusion spread across my companion's face, briefly. "What? Yes, I can understand him being lazy, as an individual, but how does that damn us all?"

"Would you consider him competent? Either in peace or war, knowing that he's little more than a mouthpiece for whoever pads his pockets the most?"

My question may have seemed a misdirection, or evasion, but thankfully Daphne answered regardless. "No. No, he's never been a good leader, if that is where you're aiming this."

I leaned forward then, my smile predatory. "Then tell me – why has no one done anything about it?"

"I'll tell you why," my voice lashed out, cutting her off before she could speak. "Your world is built around the path of least resistance. It would be too much damn effort to do anything about him! Or the system that enables him, and those like him! Looking back through the histories of magic, it's even clearer. Did wizards work harder, to coexist with muggles? No. Do they strive like muggles to progress, to better themselves? No. Do they solve their own problems, when they rise up?

"Tell me, Daphne..." Unused to the venom in my voice, the witch drew back slightly as I stood and started pacing. "How much of a reign would Voldemort have had if Britain – as one – rose up and put him down like the rabid dog he was, the first time? Rather than wait for a random stroke of luck?"

As she blinked in confusion at me, I suppose I could understand her sudden unease. I was questioning some of the most basic things of her world. We argued – yes, but like this? Usually, I was more inclined to listen, observe, then agree... but up till now, few things had arisen that I felt strongly about. My own laziness, perhaps, but also I've learned from my time with the Dursleys, that it's better to be silent and misunderstood, than openly calculating.

Did I feel strongly about this? Yes, I did. I loved magic – since I had been introduced to it, I've loved what it offered. Opportunity, a world built with amazing new things, and a chance to be something great. Not powerful, like some would think I meant by such a phrase, but for myself. I could be great, as a man working a greenhouse. A caretaker, like Hagrid. But even modest hopes like that were ripped away, by the apparent laziness of this culture, and it's fascination with building up and destroying people.

"Back to Fudge, since you initially mentioned him," I growled, pausing in my trek back and forth before a bookcase, "If Fudge weren't in power, then Voldemort would be eye-deep in Aurors right now. The Prophet allowed him that luxury, by being as corrupt as he is, but who empowers it? Wizards do, with their need to have amusements as amazing as magic itself is, and a lack of desire to actually stand on their own."

I paused for a moment, laughing mirthlessly at a thought. "Actually, in a way Fudge truly does represent the people of magical Britain. Oh, he's a pathetic leader, but does he stand as the epitome of the culture?" Another laugh echoed about the room, as I shook my head. I didn't need to answer my own question. "Without Fudge as Minister, there'd be no Malfoy at the back of the throne. My godfather wouldn't have almost lost his life to a man's deep-seated fear of losing his oh-so precious political position." Growling out the last, I stood and slammed the book I held down on the table. "Maybe that's what irks me most about wizards. From Dumbledore to Lockhart, to a one it seems they consider their ideas and the roles, position and power they have above anyone else's opinions and sometimes, even their lives!"

My anger set Daphne back in her seat, which I have to admit, pleased a part of me. Too many times I'd sit back, and let the Greengrass' suppose their own ideas, much like I'd just said, were worth more than my own. Did they do it because of my ignorance? My oh-so gentle allowing of them to spirit me away? My lack of awareness was a handicap I desperately needed to lose, and soon.

I had my mind warded now. It was keen, organized, clear. No more childish notions and flights of fancy. Oh, I wasn't ready to discard all aspects of my childhood yet – I was selfish still – but this wasn't the petty threat of Dudley and his gang. This was real, large, and deadly. Cedric dying before me woke me to that realization.

Daphne was right, some time ago. I was lazy, too. I let that lack of motivation rule me, and embraced it with open arms. Did I work hard to be the best wizard I could? Of course not, I was too concerned with bitching about Snape, the Dursleys, all the constant threats that came up. Too busy thinking quidditch was more important than knowing how to protect myself. I was a child, and as a child, my mind was chaos and disorder. Now, though, I could think how I wanted – and the clarity such organization gave me let me do a lot of thinking.

Unlucky for Daphne, what occupied me now was anger, "_Your_ Minister, the figurehead of the culture _you_ champion so often, would have sacrificed an innocent man just to save face," I reminded her, my voice dripping venom. "Last year, he ignored my warnings, despite the proof of a _dead body at his feet_, and a Death Eater in the guise of Moody, to bury his head in the sand and again, all to save his precious status quo.

"Tell me, does that not _stink of laziness to you?_"

Rather than lash out like I'd expected, Daphne tilted her head and seemed to mull over my words for a moment. "Power is a curious thing," she finally said, rising to pace while I sat again, letting our positions reverse. "It has a gravity to it. When you have it, it holds you, grips you. You'll do everything you can to get more, and secure what you have. You're right, though. Some of our most powerful, influential people seem to have little regard for the... well, little people, around them."

Though I didn't like being called 'little people', I understood her meaning, but it didn't surprise me any more than the fact she was conceding a point to me. Usually our arguments were very one-sided, something I had almost grown used to. Blame my history. From the Dursleys, to Dumbledore, harried by my cousin to henpecked by Hermione, I had a history of being wrong, or at least being told I was. I didn't always believe it, but I did learn silence, and what that silence could do to help me, as people exposed themselves trying to get me to react.

"It doesn't answer the question of _how_ this whole thing will happen, but it's a good start on _why_," I said quietly, watching as the young woman before me paced with a furrowed brow, still obviously thinking on our argument. "Your father may be worried more about Voldemort's force escalation issues, but me? I just want the wizarding world to be a place I can tolerate living in. So far, it's not doing so well."

"And when you two were talking last night, you mentioned this?"

Shaking my head, I leaned back and laughed quietly, reaching up to slide my glasses back in place. "No, I hadn't considered my own reasons when your dad was attempting to convert me to his cause. That happened this morning, as I began imagining the inevitable _Prophet_ headlines."

Daphne snorted out a laugh. "I can see it now, 'Boy Who Lived Calls for Unity With Muggles – Or Else! Resistance if Futile, Surrender and be Assimilated.'"

I raised a brow. "You watch Star Trek?"

"I'm a witch, Potter, and born into the same age you were," she replied, rolling her eyes, "just because I'm not leading the pack for change, doesn't mean I won't take advantage of what's offered, when it suits me. Plus it was, as you seemed fond of going on about, _entertaining_."

"Right," I sighed, rubbing at my temple. Just when I think I've got this girl figured out... "Headlines aside, what do you think about it all?"

Surprised by my question, Daphne halted mid-step in her pacing. "Me? Well... I don't know, really." Turning, she took a seat and leaned on a hand, eyes distant as she considered. "Putting aside reasons personal and otherwise... As far as the power struggle, I suppose with the Dark Lord active again, there's some inevitability to it all. If he has his way, then there _will_ be revolution, of a sort. If not him, then there would be some change made by the victor," she pointedly didn't say me, I think, just to be contrary. "History is written by the winners, after all. To rework the Ministry, blame it for the Dark Lord's rise, would be an easy thing if done at the proper time."

I hadn't thought of it like that, and felt suddenly like the huge, insurmountable task before me, if I chose to take it up, had gotten significantly less imposing. "Change is inevitable, then? I can see that. But what did you mean by the proper time?"

"Well, consider," she began, looking somewhat pensive, as if the topic of conversation put her ill at ease. "If one waited, for instance, until the Dark Lord usurped the Ministry. I think he'd have to, really. Can you imagine him working through legislation? Dealing with the Wizengamot? No, he won't tolerate a Ministry working counter him, as it is. Why tolerate a bloated body of yes-men, when he can just be a supreme power. Illusions would be useless if he follows his last pattern of terror.

"After that, defeating him would leave a power vacuum," she explained, grimacing. "A person could set up whatever they felt like, in the place of the Ministry, as long as it kept society running somewhat smoothly."

A laugh bubbled up, broke my forced calm. "You don't seem to like this idea much."

Shaking her head, Daphne sighed, "Of course not. Imagine if you started such a process, as you are now. What kind of madness would result..."

"Hey!"

"I'm serious," she asserted, almost growling. "You know nothing of our society, of the scope of things that happen in the background, particularly around those of blood status. What about something simple... Floo travel. Do you understand it?

"Surely you were a curious child," she muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the floo what was situated in the room. "Those born within magical families deal with that as well. Children want to know, after all. 'Mother, why does the floo turn green? How does it work?' You can bet almost everyone you know, from pureblood families know answers to things like that, and from a young age too."

Sighing, she leaned against the hearth she'd been speaking of so recently. "Whether you like it or not, your view of our world is that of an outsider looking in. You keep people who are either well-versed in your own world – Granger – or those with little opinion either way by your side, in such things."

I pursed my lips, thinking about what what she'd implied. And it was correct. I would have relied on Hermione a lot given the option, were we to succeed in Greengrass' plans. What did I know about the wizarding world, the basics it was built on? All the little things that people just grew up knowing, asking, learning about as children? Such things sank a seed of disquiet in my chest...

"Most likely you'd rely on Granger's opinions for anything terribly complicated," she continued, voicing my own thoughts. "And we've already spoken on how that would be a nightmare," she groused, rolling her eyes. I was nonplussed. If she wanted to make a point, the doing so by verbally assaulting my friends was not the way to go about it. "Malfoy's poisoning of your opinions are to blame, probably – it's no secret you hate him, and he was the first pureblood you were in contact with." She paused a moment, nose wrinkling, "Well, other than that bore Weasley."

Daphne was treading familiar and dangerous ground, again. "Hold it," I ground out between clenched teeth. "Are you going to have a go at Ron now? I mean, you took a turn at Hermione, I've been somewhat expecting it."

Sniffing, the witch rolled her eyes, "No, not Ron in particular, but his family? Perhaps. Pureblood they may be, but do they act it? No. Do they teach their children the ways of such things? How to speak, how to behave, how to maintain decorum and civility?" Daphne snorted, unamused.

"And I suppose Malfoy has had this training? You could fool me," I shot back nastily. As much as Ron and I may be on the rocks, we tended to bounce back from such things. I had nothing against the Weasleys, really. Compared to anyone else who could wear the pureblood badge, though, they were the most tolerable I felt. It was just Ron's tendency to jump first then think that irked me, especially when it came to running off at the mouth.

Sighing and rubbing at her temple, Daphne looked up, as if begging for patience or understanding. "Yes, he has. Does he use it with you? No – he baits you, pushes your buttons. You've never risen to the challenge, where he feels it necessary to rely on such things.

"Frankly, he treats you like a common mudblood, and you react just like one. So why waste the effort, or give you the compliment?"

"You're saying he thinks I'm not worth the – god _damn it,_" I rose and stomped around the room's perimeter, cursing and muttering to myself. Did Draco really do that? Did he treat me like such a lowbrow commoner? Not that I really was much else, but to have it thrown in my face like that...! Thinking back, I had to admit... since the first few contacts we'd had, his attitude changed completely. He'd initially approached me, like he could help me, but my opinions had been set and turned – and besides, I didn't like the idea then anymore than I did now, of someone making my mind up for me. Then, once I'd scratched my lines in the sand, he'd changed demeanor.

Of course, Daphne was right in something, though she hadn't stated it outright. I had no idea how to act in such a situation, even if presented it. Would it have mattered? I had made an enemy by my beliefs and stance as things stood. I would have made one by mistakes and bumbling ignorance, most likely otherwise.

Regardless, that he didn't consider me worth the effort irked me, "Maybe he does poison my opinions of that side of the wizarding world," I growled out, stopping to look out a window onto the grounds surrounding the manor house. "But, so far, I've seen nothing that redeems it. Only ignorant bigotry, sneering disdain for anyone not in that circle, and a false sense of superiority."

I turned my head at a gasp, to see that my bluntness seemed to have shocked Daphne, as I tried to fathom her reaction to my words. Maybe I'd never been so direct, but the fact remained – I had seen no other side of the pureblood agenda, or viewpoint. The oldest Greengrass daughter stood, face impassive, eyes curiously blank after my statement, a decided change from her usual sharp and calculating demeanor. Finally, she spoke, her voice a cool monotone that matched her face, "And you would be the one to change us. When you hate us so much?"

Then without pause or a second look, she turned and left the room, leaving me to wonder – but not for long.

"So, my daughter and you having your usual row, today?"

I nearly drew my wand at the man's sudden appearance, though I had to admit he was spot on with his guess. Considering how quickly he arrived after Daphne left in her huff, there was even some chance he'd been just waiting outside, listening. All things taken into account, it wasn't something I'd put past Glenn. "Yes. We do that, you know. She insults me or my friends, or my way of thinking, and I retaliate by calling her a small-minded bigot. Par for the course."

Like his daughter, Greengrass is taken somewhat aback by my sudden venom. "Harry... are you feeling alright?"

Reaching up to rub at my temple, I don't immediately reply. Instead, I level a rather flat glare at the man, "Yes. No hangover, no ill-ease at yesterday's revelations or events. Oh, perhaps I'd rather not enter a contract like the one Daphne proposed – some slip up in a Ministry office would see it finalized – but for the time being, it works to both our benefit. Other than all that," I asked with a sardonic bark of a laugh, "Yes. I'm just _peachy._"

Glenn considered this a moment, before his brow furrowed. "I'll be honest, Harry. I don't see how you benefit from the contract. I had assumed Daphne railroaded you into it."

"In a way, yes, but there's no way she can make me do such a thing," I replied, quietly, a frown openly etched on my features. "You could of course, being my guardian now, but then you'd have a rather unwilling helper in your schemes," I saw the truth in that on his face, in the slip of emotion that crept out from behind his usual mask of congenial pleasantness.

I imagine he was ruing the day he thought to pair Daphne and myself. "True, I think the entire process is stupid and outdated, for many reasons. But why risk myself, for her?"

"It was a question I had asked as well," he admitted quietly, returning my glare with a puzzled look.

I let the heat leave my expression. "Put simply, as far as the contract we agreed on, I won't. That contract will never be finalized, but she'll have her free excuse and safety.

"I on the other hand, will have an ironclad agreement, and be in control of its conditions – and that same safety," I explained, as Glenn's eyes widened slightly. "Did you really think I would just concede to such a thing, out of simple, misplaced chivalry? Whether you intended on it or not so soon, Glenn, I'm learning from you. That poor, ignorant, 'practically-mudblood' Harry Potter got as far as he did by surviving, Greengrass, not being a fool." My name was said with a sneer. I didn't need to look to Greengrass to know he was rapidly reevaluating things. "Well, ignorant I may be, but that can change – and has been."

He had woken something up in me, with his talk of revolution. A sense of righteous fury, a feeling that, "Yes, I could do that," perhaps. The wizarding world had shat on me, and alternately treated me as hero and pariah. Was I fed up? Of course! Greengrass, one of the few family names from Slytherin that I had taken note of. Why did people leave Daphne, considering her rather stark beauty and obviously fine clothes and manner, alone so consistently? There were stories even in Gryffindor about how the girl shut down anyone who tread to heavily near her. I knew some of what was spoken, between us in the car to The Fields, but only secondhand.

Information, even general, was a commodity I didn't have a good supplier for, but needed desperately. Was I in the know, when they came knocking at Privet? Of course not. But I haven't survived each encounter with Voldemort by sheer luck. Cunning, used sparingly and without warning, proved a far keener weapon than blunt courage, after all.

Slytherin would be the source of any threat to me, I had decided some time ago. Be it Snape or Malfoy, but they may have needed or wanted allies. So, I asked around. Everyone knew my family, after all, it stood to rights the same would be true of others, at least to a lesser degree.

Sparing a glance to my host, I see a kind of dawning unease, and thinking it appropriate, continue my thoughts, "You offered a few weeks working your way into my good graces, a few gestures, and you'd have your own personal figurehead. A symbol, to rally people behind, but you'd be the real power behind it."

"I don't know if I like where you're going with this, Harry..."

"Relax, Glenn," I soothed, shooting the man a slight smile. "I haven't lied to you. I had no idea what you were planning in the beginning. At the worst, I was ready to break the underage magic law just to bring down Aurors if needed, but the fact you got me away so cleanly intrigued me.

"You genuinely seem to want my help, though you've proven you'll do what you need to, to get it. I can appreciate that," I mused. "You have control over quite a lot of what power I could bring forward – power I admit I didn't know about – but you aren't invincible.

"The same engine of public opinion that I loathe, can be turned against you, too," I idly pointed out, as the man's face closed down. "Imagine those headlines! But, aside from that, Dumbledore won't put up with me being simply gone, and then take it in stride when I return. You need me to pacify him, don't you?"

I could see my answer in his face, and the man's unwillingness to meet my eyes. "You need me, Glenn... and I need something as well. So far, you've been selling me on your revolution in small steps, and pushing your angles. Now it's time to hear my counter-offer..."

After five minutes explaining myself, he boggled. "But... then why...?"

I replied with a toothy grin. "I like the chase." What Seeker doesn't?

–

I managed to finish up my meeting with Glenn sometime that afternoon. He'd charmed the doors so we wouldn't be disturbed – other than by what I told him – and for all practical purposes, we'd missed most of the day.

It was a rather harsh surprise when we stumbled on Daphne, dressed to the nines, getting ready to activate the main hall's floo. "Oh. Hello, Father," she greeted inanely, a rather stoic expression on her face.

Apparently, this wasn't an uncommon occurrence – just one I'd not witnessed before. At my side I could practically feel Glenn's irritation and anxiety spike, before leveling out to something akin to a simmering irritation. "Daphne. Perhaps you've forgotten to let me know you were on an errand?"

"No. I'm visiting Paul."

That broke Greengrass from his previous calm, in much the same way dropping a glass frees the water within. "Absolutely not!" The older man roared, causing me to hop away with a frightened yelp. Merlin he had a pair of lungs!

Daphne didn't bother to look my way, to assure my part was played. "We've had this discussion before," she reminded her father in a condescending tone. "I am not going to change my mind."

To my credit, part of my curiosity and befuddlement was genuine. They'd managed to hide this, so far? Perhaps my habitation in the dungeons wasn't quite as innocent as I'd thought.

Gesturing to me, as I knew he would, Glenn pinned the girl with a confused glare, "Why? You have Potter here willing to allow you a safeguard! What's the point of doing this?"

Her sneer and brief condescending laugh drew my eyes. "Really. Father, do you think _security_ is why I'm visiting Paul? You cannot be so naïve."

Reddening in fury and likely embarrassment, and perhaps some worry in what we'd agreed, Glenn advanced on her, "You will not continue this... stupidity! I forbid it!"

The dark haired girl's wand was in her hand before her father had taken two steps. "My life. My choice. Isn't that what you'd decided so long ago? Why Nott's offer was rejected out of hand?" With a triumphant smirk, she turned, tossing her handful of floo powder into the hearth. "Montague Residence!"

"Daphne..." Glenn began in a low growl.

"Don't wait up father," she shot back over her shoulder, stepping into the green flames.

I have to give the girl credit. She was a great actress.

I think.

–

"Who sits at the web's center now?"

I never dealt with being surprised well. After recollecting myself from falling out of the small covered gazebo, I glared at Daphne's little sister as she sat swinging her legs in a content fashion. "Could you possibly be more strange?"

Astoria regarded me and my question with a tilted head, then smiled. "Sister dearest has told you secrets," she noted almost idly. The smile broadened, "Nothing is free, Boy-Who-Lived."

Note to self: Do not tempt fate. "Oh? I'm not sure I know what you mean..."

The little girl tapped her head lightly with a wand. Wait. When the hell did she get my wand?! "You know the cost of knowing. She taught me that quite well.

"Luckily, you won't know for long," She sing-songed, pointing the wand at me with glee. "Obliviate!"

I cringed, knowing there was no way I could dodge in time, or well enough, situated as I was in the corner of the gazebo. After a moment, I blinked my eyes open, to the sound of a young girl laughing merrily.

"Oh, you're so much fun to play with," she chirped, tossing my wand across my way. I snatched it out of the air greedily. "I'm going to enjoy seeing her face when you finally close the web."

I suck in a breath, eyes narrowing. "What are you going on about?"

Astoria leaned close, eyes bright with either intelligence or madness – I can't tell which. "You're not so subtle. Occlude your mind, but your actions betray you. Still your hand, but your eyes are still open." Sitting back, her demeanor returns to one of idle, slight interest. "Daphne is not a fool, but she is not infallible. She plays her games well enough, and for all your riding upon a horse, to her you are just a Pawn.

"Imagine her surprise, when she finds herself not a Queen, but locked up within the Rook's tower..."

Mouth dry, I wonder how the hell this girl knows things I haven't even said yet. Checking my Occlumency shields, I find nothing wrong – but then... "You... the puzzle?"

"Not so hard, for those who've already seen such sights," Astoria replied, in her slightly sing-song voice while climbing up to sit along one of the gazebo's bannisters.

I blanch, knowing that my face is an open book then. When I decided to adapt a horror novel's motif as my mental landscape, the last thing I expected was someone to actually _dive through_. The Puzzle Box sitting on the table, a single shaft of light picking it out of empty darkness, functioned as the key and door into my mind, but the sentinel it summoned was a combination of everything Voldemort was to me, the Dursleys, and my own fears.

Finding no other way to handle the rebirthed monster's influence on my mind and life, I gave all the negativity, all the anger and hopelessness to that shade to use against anyone who would dare use the puzzle and progress. Everything I was, was locked up behind it, spreading out in a labyrinth like the one I'd walked during the Third Task, only made of shelves. Each shelf held a mist full of images, the walls shifting and moving at my whim to give me access to what I needed.

Mental landscapes were a double-edged blade. You organize, to gain clarity, but if your defenses are breached, then your attacker has even greater access to a mind that responds quickly and ably to their demands. Apparently, Astoria was gifted in such things, but her words till shook me. "Already seen such sights? How? When did you get the chance?"

Leaning back against one of the gazebo's supports, the young witch spared me an amused look. "You actually think my mother would be so chipper after you kept her husband up, drinking, and woke with a hangover?"

Her change in topic is obvious, but Merlin, what a shift. "_You?_ Polyjuice?"

"Not hard to brew. Just time consuming," the girl pointed out, before tossing me a crinkled piece of parchment. "Or, know where to order it."

I glanced at the flier she'd tossed me, scanning the things offered. "This is... how is this legal?"

Astoria laughed quietly, offering me a grin. "How indeed? Tell me, do those things look cheap?"

'Single dose Polyjuice,' the small advertisement declared, 'fifty galleons.' Shaking my head, I scanned other prices, other products. The selection, as well as possible abuse value present staggered me. "No, I suppose not."

Hands behind her head, the youngest Greengrass nodded. "I imagine quite a lot of it goes to the usual charities. Like St. Mungo's, for instance."

The pieces connected easily then. Not that I wasn't seeing it, but the whole surreal situation with Astoria playing as her mother just made it hard to think clearly. "So, they bribe the Ministry."

"Really, it does seem to be the trendy thing to do these days," she pointed out. "Perhaps you should read _The Prophet_ more."

A spike of irritation at the rumor rag's name swept through me. "I'd rather not, thanks."

The young witch shrugged, snatching a firefly from the air. I watched in morbid interest as she delicately picked the insect apart; wings, legs, antennae. "Your loss. Even if it is lies, where do you think they come from?"

"Rita's more than capable of making up her own material," I point out, with some venom.

Smiling, Astoria pinched the firefly's head off, before crushing the still-luminescent insect's abdomen between her fingers, smearing them with the glowing fluid. "But she is a insect, isn't she?" Astoria's question gave me pause as my surprise swelled. Of course, if she'd gotten past my defenses, she'd know about the woman's Animagus form. I continued watching the slight girl, till she resumed her point, "Not her. She's not a spider. Not a fat, lazy spider, who sits in his web, and shakes it now and then just to remind us he's there."

"How do you know about that? If you know about it," I mutter, not at all convinced the young girl before really could be so insightful. What exactly did Daphne _do_ to her? "It's obvious you're talking about Fudge. You're what? Not even twelve? How do you know about that kind of thing?"

"I know how to listen," Astoria replies faintly, staring at her now glowing fingers. The glow had spread from two to three on each hand. With a slight humm, she closed her eyes, swiping the glow across closed lids.

Turning to me with a wide, manic grin, she hold up her fingers, splayed to the sides of her face, and suddenly I'm reminded of Aragog's own glinting eyes, as eight points of faint glowing killing-curse green stare back at me. "And I know how to see," the girl points out in a chilling rasp.

Once again I find myself fleeing Astoria's laugh. I don't know if I'd do better or worse boxing and shipping her off to Voldemort. She'd either drive him utterly mad to the point of suicide or they'd sweep over the world in a tide of madness within a week.

I still consider it. It would at least be a very peaceful week, up to that point.

–

Daphne was absent at breakfast the next day.

Other than a slight pall of anxiety, irritation, and embarrassment, not much else could really be said. The fact that that I could read these things in the elder Greengrass' bothered me somewhat, as frankly I knew they both were at least passing Occlumens.

Why was obvious of course. Glenn saw her actions as first and foremost, utterly outside the proper decorum for a young witch of her family, blood, and standing. Despite giving both her and Astoria the freedom to make much of their own choices in things, it was obvious to me that he saw her apparent actions as frankly an embarrassment to his name. The second thing I could divine that would explain the near-thundercloud of emotions swirling about the table, was the man's agreement with me. I know he still harbored some interest in cementing a relationship beneficial to his family between us, and this situation with Montague was doing nothing but harming those plans.

Daphne's insinuations before leaving did little to stave off Glenn's anxiety.

Perhaps the last additive to the volatile mix, was one of my own devising. I had to back Daphne up, acting as if I didn't know what her scheme with setting Montague up to counter Nott entailed. Honestly, however, it wasn't much of an effort. "So. She's still out."

Those four words jolted both the elder Greengrass' like they'd just took hold of an exposed electrical wire. I watched Mrs. Greengrass, seeing her reaction, measuring them against those from the other time she and her daughter had fought. Seeing what I expected – a rather upset woman with very little humor about her – I turned my attention to the other Greengrass female present.

Astoria hummed happily, stabbing at her breakfast with a knife I knew didn't originate from the kitchen. I sighed, shaking my head, letting them read into that what they would. Privately, I was berating myself for not seeing the obvious.

Mrs. Greengrass was not bubbly. Ever. Astoria didn't even pretend to act like the woman, when she was tending to me that morning. I really have to work on my observation skills – at least around her. Or she was going to drive me mad.

My afternoon settled in, when Glenn brought a rather large book out and dropped it on a table. "This," he pointed out, waving off some dust, "is a comprehensive guide on wizarding etiquette." I know for a fact my face betrayed me then, because Glenn started laughing as if he'd been hit with a jinx. "Come now, it's not that bad."

"That..." I shook my head hard. "What's that kind of thing got to do with our plans? I thought you wanted..." And I paused. What did he want? He was rather obvious about wanting revolution of a kind, but into _what?_ What was his goal? These things we did not talk about, the other night.

As if reading my thoughts, Glenn raised a brow. "Anarchy? Hardly, Mr. Potter. Like my oldest, I have some pride in our way of life. I enjoy the subtle dance that is decorum and etiquette." Gathering his thoughts, he continued, "I am not a blood purist, but I am also not an advocate of wholly removing or destroying that establishment. Call me nostalgic, but my family history gives me a sense of grounding.

"I am not particularly fond of the corruption and bloat within the Ministry as it is however, and know that whoever changes that, will be the figurehead for a new era for the wizarding world."

"But," my eyes linger on the massive book, easily a quarter my own mass. "What does that have to do with this, and what we talked about?"

Scoffing, the older man shook his head, "Do you expect to walk in, as the Boy-Who-Lived, and just have people who are so mired in their own traditions they can't think of moving any other way listen to you on principal? With the power I'm working to help you obtain, you can't at once be ignorant and lack culture, while trying to sway them. You will fail."

"You don't expect me to learn all that. You _can't_ expect me to. That book is huge."

Shrugging, the elder Greengrass opened the tome to a random point. "Decorum for Wizengamot session. Dancing. Proper table manners. Addressing your peers, bearing, gesture... did you think being a Lord Regent was just about titles, money, and position?

"Our culture is a proud one," the man explained, as I wrenched my eyes off the intimidatingly small print revealed. "You, by your upbringing, are an outsider. You need to change that, or situations like Malfoy disregarding you as a non-threat, _The Prophet_, and the Minister's own attitudes will undermine and destroy you and what you work for."

I couldn't believe it would make so much of a difference, just... those kinds of things, but he made sense. Something else did, suddenly, as well. "Voldemort. He used his knowledge of the culture to further his campaign the first time, didn't he?"

"That he did. Fear of the muggleborn and muggles themselves, their wars and growing power fed his movement. He knew how to talk, how to provoke our fears." Shrugging, Glenn heaved a sigh. "As I've said, he was a charismatic man. When he spoke of the Inquisitions, the Burnings, the Witch Hunts and our reactions to what caused our fear, people listened. No one wants to admit that we fear muggles, but we do. We simply hide it behind a mask of superiority, and sometimes even hate."

It was no wonder then, really, how he pulled in people like Malfoy, who had so much to loose. Money and political power are fickle things, I was learning. Backing the wrong major player would be death in those arenas. That he survived, and seemingly continued his efforts despite the loss of their own figurehead made me pause for a moment. Riddle must have been amazing, as a politician.

Why the hell did he become a crazed terrorist then? Something didn't add up.

"Harry, you're in a very odd position," the main pointed out, sitting across from me and regaining my attention. "In a few ways, knowing what I do, and seeing what I do, I can understand what Dumbledore was thinking, keeping all this from you."

That indeed got my attention, and not in a good way. "What did you say?"

"Calm down," the man barked, before turning a flat gaze my way. "Your Occlumency still needs work. I hit one button, and you freeze up and out come the knives. Work on it." Properly chagrined, I nod. "Alright, back to topic...

"Think about it. We've talked about what I suspect, and you do too. That something about you interests You-Know-Who. Because you represent his previous failures, or what have you. Regardless, it's obvious Dumbledore has a plan for you. From what you've told me, each year at Hogwarts has been another test or trial. Each involving the Dark Lord in some way. Tell me, where in such a scenario, would being a young boy with a regency come in?"

I really hate it when everything starts making sense. I really do think about it for a minute, and look away from the man before me. If I had grown up with all these responsibilities in mind, would I have dived into such a fanciful adventure, my first year? Sure, Hogwarts was school, but it was also a fairytale come to life. You can't help but want to do something amazing. C'mon, _magic!_

The thought that my adventures were planned never occurred to me, that they weren't just the odd coincidence, till after the Tournament. That was my wakeup call. If Glenn was right, Dumbledore had been grooming me to fight for some time. The counter to that, I was learning, was the cost involved.

A Harry Potter who had grown up a Lordling and with other familial responsibilities, who had spent as much time learning to accept the society he was a part of like Daphne did, and who may even have gotten along rather well with his peer contemporaries, would not be someone who could fight Voldemort the way I had. That did not mean, however, that was the only way. I'm sure there were other options. Glenn did have a point though, and the sheer size of that book drove it home. There was a lot to being that kind of person, as opposed to who I grew up as. Would I have been a Gryffindor? Would I have befriended Ron and Hermione? Faced a troll? Or even cared about the things I did?

An odd notion caused me to wince. Would I have just been another Malfoy?

It just irked me that now I understood Dumbledore's possible perspective on things. Knowing it almost made me want to forgive, or let go of my anger on everything that was hidden from me. Almost. "Alright. I get it.

"Where do we start," my question set a grin on Glenn's face, as he paged the book back a few sections.

"Not quite the beginning, but close. Addressing, recognizing, and greeting your peers."

I dare Malfoy to think me unworthy of his time after I get through this book. We shall have words, he and I....

–

An exhaustive evening of drilling on etiquette later, and I hazarded another trip to the grounds and the gazebo. I don't know why I continued to go there, as every time Astoria had either been waiting or showed up, and frankly, my sanity suffered in her presence.

Maybe I didn't want to go back to the dungeons, despite their cool, enclosed security. I certainly didn't want to idle in the den, and be in the middle of another hurricane if Daphne arrived home. Thinking of my dark-haired counterpart while mincing about in wariness of her sister reminded me of what I had to believe, lead to Astoria's unique personality.

It lead me to wonder if all the things Daphne did ended up giving her younger sibling some kind of insanity aura. Her parents seemed unaffected – which in itself really perturbed me – but I just felt more unhinged by the minute, sitting near her.

What the hell was she going to do to Hogwarts, I pondered quietly, scanning the small structure for mad little girls. My survey lightened at the sight laid out before me, however. Afternoon light painted everything around me in reds and golds, the fields around the Greengrass home taking up those colors as they waved much like what I'd imagine the ocean would. Normally, an ocean in red would make someone think blood, but to me it just felt homey. Like seeing the sea at afternoon from the Gryffindor common room. It had that sense of peace to it.

A disturbance in that sea broke my reverie. I'm not sure if I saw her first, but Astoria paused in what she was doing, a few dozen paces from the gazebo, out in the fields. Standing idle she tilted her head, and I had the sudden notion she was waiting on me to come to her. As if she'd been waiting for me.

A little wary but more curious, I pushed through the tall grass to where she stood, only a bit taller than the largest stands of grass and grain. What I found had me wide-eyed and rather disturbed. "What the hell?"

There was blood everywhere, it seemed like. Astoria herself looked to have been splashed from her feet upward more than a few times, while around the... thing, laying dead on the ground, it seemed to pool. "Nogtail," the girl pointed out needlessly. "I've been wondering why the southern greenhouses were doing so badly. Apparently it found a den of wild boar to nest with."

Laying splayed open to the sky above, the dead creature resembled some kind of pig, though only vaguely. It's odd knobby tail, long legs and a pinched, strangely deformed face set it apart from those things it mimicked. "Ugh," I groaned, finally noticing the smell. "What is with that?"

"Curse creatures," Astoria mumbled, and I noticed that the knife from breakfast was in her hand, dripping slowly from the blood that still coated its edge. "They're minor demons. When they die, they decompose quickly." She wasn't joking, and though I remembered most of what we were discussing from Care classes, Hagrid's lessons were rarely so bloody and visceral. By the time she'd finished speaking, the dead thing's skin had shriveled and grayed, and the stench worsened. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see it for long."

"Why?"

Astoria shrugged. "There's no way they could bring a Nogtail to Hogwarts. It would cause havoc to the greenhouses."

I snorted, shaking my head, "If Sprout would look the other way, I'm sure Hagrid would try." Still, she had a point. Years of scooping eyeballs from bugs and dealing with things like Skrewts had desensitized me to what I saw, somewhat. It was more that the eleven year old beside me had slaughtered it that bothered me. "I recall these things being rather fast. How did you catch it?"

The little girl shrugged, walking slowly back toward the white-painted shelter of the gazebo. "Maybe it didn't see me as a threat."

Over the horizon, the sun was setting while I took those last words in. "Hey, Astoria?" My words echoed a bit, back to the gazebo where the girl was staring at her dress with some irritation. While she looked back where I had lingered, I took out my wand, doing a few cleaning charms to remove most of the gore coating her.

Nodding her thanks, the youngest Greengrass tilted her head at me curiously. "What is it, Harry?"

"I'm not going to underestimate you," I stated levelly, grinning as she began to smile, this time without an edge. "I may think you're mad as a hatter, but I get it."

"I'm glad. For all the plans going on, it would be hard on everyone, if we were at odds."

I nodded, leaning back to sit on one of the benches. Idly, I cleaned my shoes, and the footprints I'd left on the white-painted wood. "That does bring up what your goals are. Would they conflict with those of your father?"

Astoria hummed a moment, kicking her feet in a childish way where she sat. "I'm unsure. What are my plans?" Shrugging her slight shoulders, she regarded the sunset with unblinking eyes. "Perhaps I will be a part of father's revolution for now, till I can see them more clearly.

"Father likes you well enough, and my sister, though she is the vilest thing I know, fancies you – secretly. Oh, you didn't know? How delicious. Do tell me, will this make things strange for you?"

There's a laugh trying to bubble its way out of me, but instead I just grin and lean back against the bannister behind me. "Not as much as you hope, I think."

"Oh, bother." Wrinkling her nose, she huffed. "Very well then. What place in your games would a little girl like me play?"

I openly laughed at that. "Why don't you find what games you prefer, and your father and I will see how best to fit them in. Somehow, I don't think either of us could fully understand your reasoning."

"'Mad as a hatter', wasn't it?" Astoria snorted. "Perhaps I just understand better than you."

Standing, I walked over and ruffled her hair, earning me a glare. "I never said you _were_ mad. Just that _I_ thought you were. There is a difference," she blinked at that, and nodded. "So, you aren't terribly fond of your sister, then?"

Sitting back down, closer this time, I watched as a number of emotions played over Astoria's face. I saw everything from anger, to curiosity, to apathy, rage, despair and resignation. "I... it's strange. And terribly complicated. Do you know what I feared most, as a child? When I was very small?"

I hazarded a guess, based on my own youth. "Being alone, cold, hungry?"

She shot me such a look as I knew I'd let something vital, perhaps critical, slip unknowingly. Before I could stutter a denial, she chimed in, "Death. I was terribly afraid of dying. Who isn't, really? But... I would lay in the dark, and fear.

"More than anything, I think it was not knowing what comes after. Here I am, but what will I be after?" Taking a breath, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "You saw the Nogtail. The body is fleeting. How are we different? What defines the essential self?" Grinning slightly at my wide eyes, she answered my unasked question. "I have always been a bright child, where Daphne is more outgoing."

"Daphne? Outgoing?" I chuckle at the image. "She is the last person I'd say that about."

With a half smile, Astoria rebuffed my statement, "Yet she is. She is not shy, not demure. She will say what she thinks, what she wants. You cannot force her into things easily. She is outwardly strong. I was her counter, it was said. My parents always thought I'd be the more intellectual of us."

Thinking on it, I saw her point. Daphne was charismatic, had a strength of personality that let her stand somewhat above people. It reinforced the persona she kept forward at Hogwarts, the air of distance and aloofness. "She's no slouch, with academics," I noted, somewhat perturbed at the insinuation that Daphne wasn't the smart child. So far, she seemed rather intelligent.

"Details," the smaller girl shrugged. "Perhaps I should say I was always wondering about the hard questions. That was why I feared death." Back on topic, she continued, "I feared ceasing to be. That death was just an ending."

"I think we've all had that fear," I offered, wondering where she was taking this.

"Yes, but you didn't have Daphne, muddling your mind, erasing you bit by bit," Astoria snapped, calming herself with some effort. "She knew my fear. I came to her, more than once, afraid to sleep, close my eyes thinking I'd never wake.

"Then one day, I didn't," gaze unfocused, Astoria stared out at the fields surrounding the Greengrass home while I digested her words. "She miscast her Obliviate. She erased me."

Brow furrowed, I noted the obvious error, "But you still recall things before it."

She offered me a patient smile. "Daphne was ridden with guilt. So, she told me about myself. Everything she could recall. It... hurt." The admission cost her something, and the little girl before me seemed diminished for it. "I had no memories, but feelings remained. Obliviate is a dangerous skill, for a child to have. She still isn't perfect with it.

"I lost all my sense of self, but all my emotions remained. The first in the line, however, was betrayal. Daphne, my sister, had killed me. She knew my fear, and she was the one that made it a reality."

What could I say to that?

Astoria picked at one of the nearby flowers, finally snapping off a stem with a daffodil atop it. She traced the petals with a finger as she spoke. "I rebuilt myself over a year, with Daphne explaining it all away somehow. My trust in her kept me quiet, as she helped me relearn how to be a person, but some things couldn't be taught. I trusted, because otherwise, I'd be lost without anything to guide me. She held my life hostage against my silence."

"That's why you said she was vile," it wasn't a question, so much as me stating my understanding. "You had to rely on someone who betrayed you, to regain that. How old were you?"

"Still very young," she answered, nodding to my other points as she did. "I had less to recoup, unlike someone your age. But, in the things I couldn't be taught, I found some comfort. There was nothing cluttering my mind anymore. I was, for lack of a better word, pure in my own way." The glaze of memory faded from her eyes, and she smiled her small, secretive smile at me. "I'll help with your revolution. Perhaps we'll see how in time, once you and father figure out how to begin it."

If anything, her insight into people would be more than welcome. I'd never really met anyone quite as sharp on the uptake as Astoria, and frankly, if she could help me from making mistakes with that talent, then all the better. Plus, she was in a different year bracket than Daphne and myself, in case this all flowed over to Hogwarts.

Thinking on it, I suppose having all the clutter of growing up erased, let you see things with different eyes. It certainly seemed like she saw things differently, and I can only imagine how strange I'd be, with only my impulses and instincts intact, but with no memory of why they were there. Recalling her earlier statement, I responded, "I think that'd be great. Provided Glenn doesn't get upset that I'm dragging another daughter into it all."

Astoria scoffed. "We'll all be involved, in time. The wake of what he does will not let us float idly behind. We are either a part of it, or swept up by it."

And there's that insight. "Yeah, isolating you and your mother would be hard. Nothing short of leaving the country would insulate you, I think."

"Pointless," she noted, standing. "We can help. So we will."

Not really knowing what to say to that, I simply nodded. "I'm going to see if Daphne's back." A moment's pause passed, while I thought for a moment. "Do you know-"

"Nott won't survive. But then, neither will Montague," she asked, a Cheshire grin stretching across her face, "Will he?"

Bemused, I shrugged as we walked back to the manor home. "I'm not sure what you mean, really."

"For now," Astoria mused, and at that moment I realized the dagger she'd held earlier was missing, since we returned to the gazebo. I'd not even though to ask about it. Strange little girl...

–

I walked into the dungeons, intent on working on my mental landscape some more when I noted a dark-haired shadow, sitting in the back with a book before her. Unable to curb myself, I greeted her, "So, how was Paul?"

There was a flash of blue eyes, before the book resumed its place. "Sufficient for his purposes. How was 'Tori?"

Daphne knew the pet name she had for her little sister annoyed her to no end, and perhaps a little of that same irritation showed in my face. Apparently, she noted us talking between arriving home, and my wandering to the dungeons. With a grin, I decided to take a page from the youngest Greengrass' book. "Well enough. She was showing me how to butcher a Nogtail earlier."

Surprise and a little shock played over the girl's features, as she let the tome in her hands slip for a moment. "Oh. Well, I'm glad it's not around to disturb the greenhouses, then."

I sat, taking out my own book, cataloging her reactions. It seemed Astoria's peculiarity still managed to slip past her defenses, which would explain why she didn't spend much time around the younger girl. Guilt, maybe? Good, it gave me an opening to test, "True. Such an unruly, cursed beast isn't at all what you want around cultivated things, for certain." I let the allusion hang, perhaps being direct, perhaps speaking about plans and unknowns revolving around myself. The words weren't important, but Daphne's reaction was.

_There it was_. My last words ticked something in her mind, and confirmed a thought I was wondering about, if her suspicious gaze was anything to work by. Even if only slightly wary, she suspected me, and my use of Astoria's odd riddling double-talk triggered it.

So, disguising herself as her own mother wasn't the first time Astoria had pulled that trick. I'd have to keep that in mind.

Dropping my act, I yawned and scratched at the back of my head. "Any thoughts on what we're going to do, back in Hogwarts once summer's over?"

The question stilled Daphne's suspicions, and she shrugged. "My best guess is that we'll start expanding a power base. Collect the sons and daughters of my father's peers, and start setting up the foundations for what will remain, once the revolution is over."

"Thinking somewhat ahead, aren't you?"

Daphne snorted, rolling her eyes, "Really? And what do you expect to happen, once the Ministry is shown to be utterly useless, incompetent, or irrecoverably corrupt? Just expect another Minister to make it better? Perhaps the Wizengamot, that suffers the same disease, will be reorganized?

"No. There will need to be massive changes," She murmured, voice going quiet, pensive. "We will need to be careful."

I regarded her with a slight smile, unable to hide it. "So, you think it'll work then? No more doubting me?"

"Hardly," she shot back. "Either way, this half-war, half-terrorist action will end up with a lot of my father's generation dead, or as good as. The historic precedents are obvious. One side will loose, and the losers will get purged.

"Currently, both sides can be said to occupy a lot of those positions." She pointed at me, with a smirk. "You said so yourself, talking about _The Prophet_, and how the Minister reacted to Diggory's death."

I didn't like the reminder, but let it go with little more than a cold feeling in my gut. "You've got a point. So, it would be best to rally people to our cause, before that point, so they're ready, when the vacuum occurs." Nodding at my point, Daphne looked down, expression clouding. "What is it?"

"Just thinking, 'our cause', and all that," she mused. "What can we do, to unify them? What cause?"

Leaning back, I blew out a sigh. "Good point. Maybe we should get Glenn to help with that."

The two of us lapsed into silence, each taken with our own projects. It was perhaps an hour later that I leaned back, eyes distant. I'd not been able to concentrate on the book before me, for anything other than white noise. My own thoughts were too loud, too erratic. Most of that chaos was centered on Astoria, and deciphering her cryptic comments earlier that day and the day before. I was also trying to rectify her veiled hatred of her own sister and what caused it to the young witch before me.

For a few minutes, I fixed my gaze on Daphne, watching her eyes slowly pan from left to right as she read. The slight twitch of her lips when she encountered an unknown phrase or idea. Idly, I broke the quiet that sat comfortably between Daphne and myself, "You know, your sister is quite insane."

Shaken from her studies, Daphne looked away from me after meeting my eyes. "Yes. Better than you do, I'd imagine."

Returning to my book, I let a smile linger, "thought you ought to know."

–

AN: More Harry and Daphne next chapter, as well as some heavy steps forward. To the Wizengamot we go, we go...


End file.
